


Five Times Spock Ended Up In McCoy's Arms, And The One Time That He Wanted To Be

by StellarLibraryLady



Series: Star Trek Winter Holidays Series [12]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alien Character(s), Amused Spock, Angry Leonard "Bones" McCoy, Appreciative Spock, Awkward Conversations, Awkward Romance, Baffled Spock, Bemused Kirk, Bickering, Christmas, Christmas Party, Christmas dance, Cold McCoy, Confused Spock, Crossdressing, Cuddling, Dancing, Daydreaming, Declarations Of Love, Declarations Of Mutual Interest, Fear, Five Times, Girly McCoy, Humor, Hurt Spock, Hurt/Comfort, Hyperventilating, Ill Spock, Inane Conversatiton, Injured Spock, Innuendo, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Midnight Blue Dress, Mysterious illness, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Protective Spock, Ranting McCoy, Ridiculous Situation, Roman Fountain, Rome - Freeform, Sadie Hawkins Dance, Threat Of Forced Sex, Trapped, Wet McCoy, Wise Kirk, Worry, peace treaty, protective McCoy, reassurance, sexual arousal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-13
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2019-02-12 19:02:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12966282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StellarLibraryLady/pseuds/StellarLibraryLady
Summary: Through a series of misadventures, some of them quite serious and life threatening while others are ridiculous, Spock and McCoy discover that they have more in common than bickering and Captain Kirk.





	1. Daydream Believer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spock and McCoy are accidently trapped in a compromising position.

“Relax, Doctor, or you will hyperventilate.”

McCoy drew back as far as he was able, which wasn't very far due to his present situation. “Vulcan, do you know that at any other time what you’re saying would be highly suggestive? Especially considering the fact that I currently have a very close view of your face?”

“I am highly aware of the sexual connotation of our current situation, Doctor. The fact that our bodies are slammed up against each other with our faces just inches apart has not escaped my notice. I am also well aware that due to our dire situation, that sex is probably the last thing on our minds.”

“Speak for yourself, Vulcan! I’m finding that our current dire situation is very sexually charged!”

That actually brought something of a grin to Spock’s face. In fact, Spock looked positively jovial. “You are thinking of sex? With me?" He arched an eyebrow. "Now?”

“All the time!” McCoy snapped. He willed himself to calm down, which wasn't very far. But he wanted to make himself understood. “Why should now be any different?! Except that now there is a more obvious reason for it!”

“Why have you never said anything before about your unbridled lusts for me, Doctor? I had no idea about your sexual interest in me.”

“Now, just how far do you suppose that would have gotten me?!” McCoy snarled.

“Maybe into my arms, as I am now in yours. And now that we are so situated, I am finding that I am not adverse to our circumstances. In fact, I am finding that it is quite pleasurable to be so situated.”

McCoy froze. An impossible hope coursed through his body. But had he heard right? Maybe he better check for certain. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying? That I might have a chance with you?”

Spock's face was mellow and placid, even this close up so that McCoy could study individual pores. Spock almost had the look of a very wise and satisfied camel as he spoke. “Leonard, sometimes all you have to do is ask. You never know what could happen otherwise.”

That's all it would have taken?! All he would've had to have done was to have asked?! Oh, hell, nothing could be that simple!

Could it?

McCoy nervously wet his lips. “Well, then. How about that? Who would’ve thought?” McCoy muttered in awe as his mind went over all sorts of exciting possibilities with the Vulcan. Now that the opportunity was so close, what would he choose first?

“Yes, Leonard? What do you want to ask me? What do you wish could happen to us while we are trapped in each others’ arms in this confined space and our bodies are slammed together so intimately? What would you envision is the next step for us?”

“You mean if we could move more than a few inches in any one direction?” he couldn't keep from asking with sarcasm.

“You are looking on the dark side of the situation, Leonard," Spock said reasonably. "We can still feel the other’s body.”

“Oh, yeah!” McCoy hadn't thought of that. He could feel every inch of the Vulcan's hard body up against his. And it was luscious!

“And we could still kiss.”

“Hell, yes, we could, couldn’t we?!" The Vulcan was having such wonderful ideas! " We could just lean forward a little. Then pucker up and smooch away.”

“And we could pledge ourselves to each other.”

That didn't sound as exciting as kissing, and McCoy drew back a little. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather move on to HOW we could seal that commitment. It would not be a time for words. Know what I’m getting at?" His eyes flicked over Spock's face, and he felt quite breathless. "Being as how we’re so compromised with our bodies slammed up together so intimately, some of the preliminaries have already been taken care of for us.” McCoy wrinkled his nose. "You know, foreplay and all of that sort of thing that keeps the main action from getting underway right off. Now, we could just get right to the really fun stuff." Damn those lips looked so kissable as McCoy concentrated on them! He leaned toward them, ready for a delicious lip-lock.

“Oh, Leonard, you are being so droll," Spock said with a likewise droll look on his face and spoiled the mood for a moment. McCoy drew back, but managed to hold the pointed words on his tongue. It wasn't as if he could rant at Spock and then stomp off in righteous indignation. He kinda had to stay put and try to get the mood for romance re-established again. The Vulcan also kinda had the floor, so McCoy let him have it. "Soon we will be rescued," Spock said. "And then we can discuss our commitment in more comfortable conditions.”

Good! The mood really hadn't been broken! And McCoy was finding it difficult to wait to taste those luscious lips so close to his.

“Not in the mood to discuss,” McCoy murmured as he stared openly at Spock’s lips. “Wanna be way beyond the talking part.”

“That is my desire, also, Leonard, but now we must think of other things. Not hyperventilating, for one thing.”

“Kissing?” McCoy suggested hopefully.

“Well, that would be most pleasant. But--”

“But?” McCoy questioned when Spock’s sentence hung on the suspenseful word.

 

"But?" McCoy repeated so that Spock could pick up the threads of his stranded sentence again.

“But what?” Spock wanted to know as he shook McCoy slightly.

“Hmm?”

“You said ‘but.’”

“I did?” It was difficult coming back through that dense fog where he'd found himself. In the meantime, there were those luscious Vulcan lips still right in front of his face and so temptingly close to his.

Spock frowned slightly. “What are you doing, Doctor? You are staring at my mouth. Are you hyperventilating?”

“I may start at any moment now,” McCoy answered breathlessly as he continued to stare at what was holding his attention so thoroughly.

“I thought you were semiconscious, Doctor. You seemed to be blacking out a moment ago. I was trying to keep you from hyperventilating. Remember? Then you got very quiet, which was rather refreshing, I must say. It was a nice change from your previously adamant remarks. What happened was not really my fault, although you continued to assert very forcefully that it was. Then you suddenly silenced. So I decided not to disturb you.”

“Damn mouthy Vulcan!” McCoy snapped and finally had his attention broken from Spock's inviting lips.

“It was almost as if you were in a trance for several blessedly quiet moments."

McCoy pursed his lips to object, but Spock hurried ahead.

"Your catatonic state began to worry me despite the respite from having to listen to your ranting. Then you underwent some sort of change. You started toward me as if you wanted something from me. It occurred to me that you after air, perhaps, to aid in your struggles with hyperventilation. But you seemed so determined with your single-minded advance toward my lower face. I thought that you meant to suck the oxygen from my body.”

That was the first time that McCoy had ever heard of a kiss described that way. He supposed that’s how it would seem to an unromantic Vulcan. McCoy would’ve laughed if he’d had the room and the breath. He did manage a halfway decent chortle, though, to show his disdain about being trapped in a compromising position with a clueless buffoon who apparently had no idea about the sexual arousal that McCoy was feeling.

Spock, of course, misinterpreted. He shook McCoy again as if McCoy was letting his attention drift.

“Doctor? What is your trouble? Are you choking?”

“If you must know, I am trying not to laugh.”

“I do not understand. Our situation is not highly conducive for levity. You need to be serious now. You need to act appropriately.”

“Hey! I’m not the bad guy here! You're the one who hunted me up to get us into this stupid mess! You’re the one who invaded my three feet of personal space! I was just innocently minding my own business, trying to size up a different room. Then, suddenly, Wham! There you were, up against me!”

“Doctor, I had to squeeze up against you, or the hatch door would have crushed me. The way it was, I was only a split second ahead of its forward thrust.”

“And I was the lucky recipient of all of that forward thrust from the both of you. The only trouble was, there was another wall so immediately behind me. I could not give either one of you too much room. I know that I might be sounding selfish and unwilling to share, but I do need a certain amount of space to exist. My world is being seriously compromised the way it is, and you and your friend the door are really crowding me.”

“Sorry, Doctor. I will try to make myself smaller.”

“Forget it. You need room to exist, too. It isn't the fault of either of us. That belongs to the engineer who designed this spaceship. Who puts a hatch door on a closet, anyway? This damn utility closet could barely hold several brooms, let alone two grown men. And yet, here we are, all comfy and cozy. With our arms around each other and breathing each others’ exhalations. If we have any consolation, at least the closet was empty. It might be really interesting if several brooms were also in here with us demanding space for themselves and poking us in the underarms with their handles.”

“Obviously, the hatch door must be a proposed improvement on spaceship design that has not been tested yet.”

“Until now! And we’re testing it! And it's failing! Miserably!”

"Now, Doctor, you do not know what its test would have been."

"That's true. It might've been to see if it could shove grown men into a space intended for three raincoats to reside comfortably!" McCoy shouted.

“You do not have to prove it to me, Doctor, or to be so loud in your assertions. I can hear you quite well since my ears are so close to your mouth."

"Sorry. Sometimes it helps to vent."

"What were you doing in this small closet, anyway?”

“I thought that this was the next compartment. When I see a hatch door, I generally think that means that there is another compartment on the other side of it. I was just using logic. You should appreciate that.”

“Well, yes, you did make a correct assumption. Generally, a hatch door does indicate that a different compartment is being offered. Fascinating that it does not do so in this case.”

“I’m just happy that I heard you coming and got turned around before you came hurtling toward me. The way it was, it was enough of a surprise seeing you headed my way so swiftly. I don’t know how I would’ve reacted if I hadn’t had that split second warning.”

“Your face would now be wedged up against the back closet wall and you would be doing a close inspection of its paint instead of my face. And you would be demanding all sorts of explanations from me that I could not provide. After all, I would have just gotten in here myself.”

“The back closet wall, hmm? Definitely not as interesting as what I’m currently seeing. Although I can think of other places I’d rather be and other things that I’d like to be doing. Thanks for nothing.”

“It was not all my doing, Doctor. The hatch door was rather adamant in its demands to shut. I simply had to comply with its directive or become flotsam on its forward moving path.”

McCoy grinned. “Are you saying that you got slapped in the ass by a quarter ton of steel, Mr. Spock?”

“And rather forcefully, Doctor.”

“Yeah, if you’d slammed into my hind-end that hard without my foreknowledge, I might not have known what you had in mind,” McCoy said mischievously. “Or what force had driven you.”

“The door--”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. The hatch door. I’m just saying that it would have put us in a pretty compromising position with you plastered up against my backside.”

“And we are not now in a compromising position, Doctor?”

“Yeah, you’ve got a point, alright.” Their close proximity to each other suddenly seemed stifling. “Is it me, or is this room getting smaller?”

“Doctor, that is just claustrophobia.”

“It’s not all in my head!"

"You believe that you cannot receive sufficient oxygen to survive."

"It isn't that, either! The room IS getting smaller!" McCoy frowned. "Or we are getting bigger!”

Then they both realized what the problem was and what was causing it. It was only certain parts of their bodies that were enlarging. Nothing above their waists was involved, only below. And the mutual condition was about as adamant about its agenda as that hatch door had been.

"Stop moving around so much. That only escalates the problem."

"I think that we're way beyond that solution helping any!" McCoy declared as he squirmed again in his agitation.

Spock jerked and his eyelids fluttered. “Doctor, I suggest that we think about the most tragic events that have ever befallen us.”

“You mean, outside of this one?”

“Most particularly, not this one.”

“We could think about those drills that we’re suddenly hearing. No doubt, that would be Jim and some rescue party he’s gotten together. He's a helluva captain, you know? He could organize deranged ants at a kindergarten picnic.” McCoy frowned in thought. "He's gotta be wondering what's going on in here."

“I expect that he must have been quite startled when we both disappeared into the wall,” Spock remarked. "I know that I would have been if my companions would have vanished so dramatically. And so thoroughly. He is probably also wondering about what mischief you have gotten me into now."

That assumption that their problems were always McCoy's fault pissed off McCoy, and he said something that he ordinarily would not have said in the circumstances that they were under. But Spock had needled him, and McCoy needed to get back at him. “What happens when those guys with their drills finally clear the metal of the hatch door and pierce your back?” McCoy asked pleasantly. “That should get your attention.” He grinned as Spock flinched at his words.

“Doctor, our rescuers would surely be working on the hinges of the door, not the main part of the door itself.” Spock pondered the ominous drilling behind him. The vibrations hummed through his body. “Wouldn’t they?” His voice sounded a little unsure.

“You’d think. Of course, they are Earthlings. They might even be the same Earthlings who were bright enough to put a hatch door on a small closet.”

“You make an excellent point, Doctor." Spock frowned. "And a disturbing one.” He might as well have been announcing eminent death as ashen as his voice sounded.

Well, that scenario had managed to divert Spock’s mind. And his physical fervor, if the sudden room in their nether regions was any indication.

But not McCoy’s. He was still aware of Spock’s engorged anatomy pressed firmly against his. That’s because Spock’s erection had suddenly returned to its former lusty proportions. Spock hadn’t been diverted, after all. He and his base urges had simply been momentarily sidetracked and seemed suddenly to be on the move.

“Being attacked by slimy swamp creatures!” Spock blurted.

“Hmm?”

“Fighting enraged Klingons!”

“Huh?”

“The most tragic event that has ever befallen you! Quickly, Doctor! What was it?!”

“The day I first met you?” McCoy offered with a wry grin.

That seemed to ground Spock and calmed him. One eyebrow went up. He was clearly insulted by McCoy’s sarcasm, but impressed, also. “Hmm. How droll, Doctor.”

Droll. That was the word that Spock had used in his daydream, McCoy realized.

Suddenly, the hatch door swung open, and the two trapped men were engulfed by fresh air, bright light, and their rescuers.

Spock sprang backwards, and McCoy felt relief and separation anxiety all at once.

“Spock! Bones! Are you okay?!” Kirk demanded as he patted their chests and arms for injuries. He dismissed the men with the drills, then turned to his two recovering men. “Do you guys need anything?” he wanted to know as he leaned toward them.

“Space!” McCoy gasped.

Kirk grinned. “That’s the first time that I’ve ever heard you want to be in space, Bones. You generally object to it even on principle.”

“Not ‘in’ space! Just ‘space!’”

Kirk stepped back a step. "Better?"

"It may take awhile," McCoy answered between gasps for air. Thankfully, he hadn't been this claustrophobic inside the closet with Spock. It must have been a delayed reaction. He felt like he wanted to be in the empty prairies of western Kansas with no ranchers or even cattle present for miles. Gophers and rattlesnakes might even be too much company. Then the damn sky would probably be pressing down on him.

"It must've been hell in there," Kirk commiserated.

"You don't know the half of it! It kept getting tighter!"

Kirk looked down at them, then gave them a wise look. “I see what you mean. Close proximity came with its own special set of problems, didn’t it? Sorry to break up your party. I’d think that you’d want privacy now, as well as space.”

“What--” Then McCoy knew what Kirk had spotted. “It wasn’t like that!” He turned. “Tell him, Spock! Nothing was going on!”

But the Vulcan was maddeningly quiet for a change.

“I suggest a cooling off period for you two. In separate areas. Far, far away from each other.”

“You won’t get any arguments from me, Jim!”

“You gentlemen will excuse me,” Spock said coolly and slipped around a corner out of sight.

“There’s times that he reminds me more than ever of being a cat! Did his feet even touch the floor as he made that silent exit?!”

“What really went on in that closet, Bones? It looked like you two were having fun.”

“If you think that claustrophobia and hyperventilating and breathing Spock’s carbon dioxide sound like fun, then you would’ve had a ball in that damn closet!” McCoy snapped.

“Just saying!” Kirk pleaded as he held up his hands in surrender.

“And don’t get this company to overhaul the Enterprise! I’m glad that we checked out their work before we recommended them to Starfleet Command for upgrades! Hard telling where they’d put the next hatch door! Or a one-way mirror!”

"Come on, Bones. I'll buy you a coffee."

Kirk left chuckling while his mind was thinking of all sorts of places for one-way mirrors. And most of those places involved areas frequented by female crew members during their leisure hours.


	2. The Lonely World Inside My Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spock lies unresponsive from an unknown illness. What can McCoy do to save him? How can McCoy let Spock know that he is not alone?

"Bones, what is it?" Kirk asked in a worried voice as he hovered next to McCoy in sickbay. "What's wrong with Spock?"

McCoy felt so inadequate. Kirk needed reassurance, but McCoy couldn't give something he really didn't feel. Kirk, the almighty, dragon-slaying conqueror of the universe was almost childlike in his need to be told that his ailing friend would be alright. But all that McCoy could tell Kirk was the truth. "I don't know, Jim. I wish that I did."

The two helpless men studied the rigid Vulcan on the biobed. Spock lay there as if dead. Yet his friends could see his shallow breathing, so they knew that he still lived. But that was the only sign of life. Spock had been unresponsive for hours. Oh, the heart was still beating and other organs were busily doing their assigned chores, but that was just the machinery working. Kirk and McCoy wanted Spock awake and talking and working. They wanted Spock doing his normal stuff, and not this, this, whatever this was.

"Had you seen this coming on?" Kirk asked. "Were there any symptoms that something like this was going to come over him?"

McCoy shook his head. "You've been around him as much as I have. I hadn't noticed anything. Oh, he and I each had a few physical problems after we got squeezed in that closet together. For awhile, it felt strange to be able to move about freely, whenever and wherever I wanted." He looked thoughtful. "Strange how compression in that closet became the norm so soon. Sardines must really feel frantic whenever their tin is opened. All that freedom must be daunting."

"Funny, I'd never thought about sardines' feelings, one way or another," Kirk admitted. He was also wondering how he'd suddenly gotten into a serious discussion about the life experience of sardines. He had to tear himself back to the present, though, because he realized that McCoy was talking again.

"There were other reactions from that closet episode, too. Neither one of us took doors for granted anymore, or closets. We were both very aware of them and checked all their attributes, and faults, before using them. Then there were other strange outcomes. For me, it mostly fell into the range of nightmares about octopi squishing the hell outa me."

Despite his worry about his friend, Kirk grinned. "Octopi, hmm? As in plural?"

"There had to be more than one! Even eight legs couldn't be in that many places at once! There had to be a whole herd of octopi attacking me!"

"I don't know if octopi come in herds," Kirk mused, then shrugged. "Not important, but it probably is to them."

"I was too busy fighting off that nightmare of tentacles all over me to worry about what they call themselves. Those damn tentacles went everywhere! Probe everything! They must be damn curious creatures, that's all that I can say!"

"And you call it a nightmare?" Kirk smirked. "Sounds more like a sexual fantasy to me. Or a dream come true."

"Call it what you want," McCoy snapped. "You wanted to know the aftermath of that closet experience for me. I told you, that's all!"

"Whoa," Kirk pleaded, holding out his hands in protection. "I just wanted to know your take on all of this. Don't remove something vital for me, like an eye or my left arm. I'm not finished with all of my standard equipment yet."

"I know. Sorry for snapping at you, Jim," McCoy apologized sheepishly. "I should be more professional than this. I should be looking at Spock as just another puzzling medical case that has to be diagnosed and treated."

"Nobody expects you to be that objective, Bones," Kirk said softly. "Everyone knows that Spock is your friend."

"Everybody but him, you mean!" McCoy snorted.

"Bones. You know better than that. Granted, he can seem distant, but we have to overlook that. Spock can be a little unapproachable, that's all."

"You've got that much right!"

"Bones. Be fair. Please. Yeah, he's distant, but that doesn't mean that he's indifferent to you. Spock has trouble expressing himself emotionally. He may not even realize that he's hurting you."

McCoy smirked, but didn't comment.

"But he is still your friend. And you know it."

McCoy huffed and grimaced, but didn't argue with Kirk.

"And being his friend, you have a right to be upset by his condition, as much as I am."

McCoy seemed to deflate. "Yeah, I know what you're saying is true. It's just that sometimes I'd like a little more actual proof that he is my friend."

"I know, Bones. But he's trying. You know that to be true, too. You have to let him find his own way of expressing what he's actually feeling. And part of it could be that we have to learn to listen for what he's having trouble saying. We might have to learn to listen with different ears," Kirk said gently.

It was softly spoken, but had the force of a hammer slamming down on McCoy. Listen up, asshole! Help the Vulcan along! Be the bigger guy, and you'll reap the benefits. Just be patient.

McCoy grimaced again, but couldn't argue with Kirk. Because everything that Kirk said, and inferred, was true. The only trouble was that it was based on what Kirk knew.

There had been other things that Kirk didn't know about, things that had happened between McCoy and Spock in that closet, things that had been left dangling between them since the episode in the closet. McCoy knew that he and Spock needed to get things thrashed out. But how can you talk to a shadow? Spock had been avoiding McCoy, or so it had seemed to McCoy. Maybe Spock wanted to forget all of the physical awareness he'd experienced in that closet. Maybe Spock thought that it would all go away if he ignored it.

McCoy frowned to himself. Maybe that denial had come back to bite Spock in the ass by making him sick now.

Stop it, McCoy! That's just your romantic nature combining with wishful thinking! You aren't that important to the Vulcan! This isn't a fairytale where the prince awakens the sleeping princess with a magic kiss! This is real life! And death! The Vulcan has some exotic bug that can strike Vulcans occasionally, and you don't know anything about it. That's all.

And it's turning your doctor's guts into mush because you're feeling so inadequate! And it's killing you personally because you don't want to lose him.

Damn, he was good at psychoanalyzing himself. Now he wished he was that good in helping himself!

He also wished that Spock would just open his eyes, crawl off the biobed, and leave the sickbay to go about his life again. Spock didn't ever have to acknowledge McCoy again if he would only do this small thing for McCoy and get well.

Was that so much to ask of a damn aggravating Vulcan?!

"I don't know if he's asleep or unconscious,” McCoy admitted in frustration. “Hell, as far as I know, he could be in a coma. I don't know that much about Vulcan diseases. All I know is that M’Benga picked one helluva time to go on shore leave!”

“He didn’t plan this, Bones. Neither did Spock.”

“Well, the two people on staff who know anything much at all about Vulcan anatomy and ailments are currently compromised. M’Benga, by being only where his deity knows for sure. And Spock, Spock being, this!” He gestured toward the third, but silent person in the room. “You know, I’d give anything right now if Spock was awake and needling me.”

Kirk managed a grin. “He would probably be 'fascinated' to know that you'd said that.”

“Well, don’t go blabbing anything so foolish to him!” McCoy snapped. “I’d never live it down. He might get to thinking that I liked him, or something.”

Despite his own worry about Spock, Kirk was intrigued and amused by McCoy’s adamant denials when it was clear that McCoy was as concerned about Spock’s condition as Kirk was.

“Oh, we can’t have anything foolish like that happening now, can we?” Kirk teased.

“Well, I wouldn’t want to give him any false impressions, that’s all,” McCoy mumbled.

“Of course not.”

A few moments passed quietly, then McCoy sighed. “Jim, you might as well go on to bed. I’ll watch him tonight.”

“You’re tired, too, Bones. Get a yeoman to stay with him.”

“I’m his doctor, Jim. My place is here. You have to run this ship.”

“But--”

“So, go get your beauty sleep so you can do your job, and leave me to mine. My place really is here.”

Kirk knew that everything McCoy said was true. “You’ll let me know if there’s any change?”

“Of course. Now, get out of here.” McCoy smiled softly. “That’s your doctor talking as well as your friend.”

Kirk squeezed McCoy’s shoulder. “Take good care of him.”

“You know that I will. Besides, I’m kinda used to having him around, too, you know.”

Kirk smirked and slapped McCoy’s shoulder softly. “That’s what I always figured. Goodnight, Bones.”

“’Night, Jim.” Then McCoy settled in a chair near Spock’s biobed to watch his patient.

Anytime now, Vulcan. Finish your beauty nap and haul your green ass outa my sickbay so everyone can relax and get some decent rest. Stop trying to be the center of attention.

Nothing.

McCoy sighed. It was going to be a long night.

 

It got really quiet after Jim Kirk left. Even the skeleton crew on the night shift in sickbay didn’t make that much noise. At least McCoy didn’t hear them from where he was sitting with Spock in the isolation ward.

The light was dim. The room felt impersonal. And sterile, devoid of color or promise. Or hope. McCoy started to feel like he was sitting with a corpse instead of with a patient. A slight stirring, an eyelid flicker, an uncontrolled fart oozing out, anything, anything would help. But nothing, nothing from a guy who could put the Sphinx to shame with his haughty aloofness.

And it finally began to wear on McCoy. Why was the damn Vulcan such a damn enigma? Was that really such a desirable state to be in?

“Is this what you really like?” McCoy suddenly asked in the hush of the overly quiet room. “Being sealed off like this? Letting Jim see little glimpses of you, and nobody else? Not quite a robot? Not quite a man? What the hell are you, anyway? I’d really like to know. I've got a little bit of an investment with you, being your doctor and all. I think that you owe me some sort of explanation so that I could understand you better.” He pursed his lips and said what he really wanted to say. "So that I could help you."

McCoy frowned in thought. “But I know that you don’t give a fart in a high wind about revealing what I’d like to know about you. And that’s too bad, you know it? I'm actually quite trustworthy. And I’ve got it from some very reliable sources that I’m a pretty nice guy when you get to know me. I’d like to get a chance to show you what kind of person I can be.” Then McCoy used a magic word. “Can’t you meet me halfway on this friendship thing? Because that's what we're talking about here." He frowned again. "I think.”

McCoy waited. “No? Not interested in friendship? Or in spilling your guts to me?” He seemed to deflate. “That’s what I figured. Why should now be any different? Why should you ever want to help me get off this meat hook that I'm swinging from so exposed?”

McCoy pursed his lips in thought. "Yeah, I could let someone else sit with you. Yeah, I could go to my quarters and curl up in my own comfortable bed. But that's no guarantee that I'd get any rest. Because my mind would be back here, wondering what in the hell I could do to help you. Come on, Spock. Be a sport. Help me to help you. Tell me what to do. I need some help from you." Then he used another magic word. "Please."

Nothing.

"Well, that was a waste of breath, but I had to take a shot at it, didn't I?" He grinned wistfully when he thought about how he would have to explain that idiom to the literal Vulcan if Spock could hear him now. Explaining an idiom had always seemed like such a chore before. But right now, McCoy would welcome having to do it because that would mean that Spock was awake and responsive. And relating.

With a sigh, McCoy pushed himself to his feet. "Well, time to check your vitals," he said as he started to scan Spock. "Let's see some improvement, shall we? Shock the hell outa me and open your eyes so I can go to my bed and close mine."

At one point, McCoy accidentally touched Spock’s skin. McCoy frowned. “You’re as cold as hell, and it’s already like a sauna in here. I was about ready to start stripping down to my skivvies because of the heat in this room. Your core temperature must be dangerously low. What in the hell do I do with a Vulcan popsickle to keep him alive? What would I want someone to do for me so I wouldn’t feel so cold? Or so alone?”

Without further pondering, McCoy simply acted. He crawled on the biobed, pulled Spock into his arms, and settled the two of them under the covers. Spock seemed to mold himself to McCoy as if it was the most natural thing in the world to cuddle with his doctor. McCoy could almost imagine a sigh of contentment from Spock.

“Don’t take it wrong what’s going on here,” McCoy muttered. “I’m not really getting fresh with a defenseless patient. We’re actually having an intervention here, Vulcan. Yeah, that’s what’s going on. An intervention. You’re trying to die, and I won’t let you do that. Not without a fight, I’m not. If you object, wake up and tell me off about it. Then we’ll discuss it like civilized men should. Otherwise, we’re lying here together until you get it through your hard head that I’m not letting you die. I'm too damnation stubborn to let you go that easily!”

McCoy rubbed Spock’s arm with his palm. “Come on! Get that damn green blood of yours moving! Pump oxygen and nutrients to all of your cells, and then bring back all of the impurities to your heart and lungs that you need to get rid of. Get your body churning again. Your body's just a machine, you know. Let's get it up and running again. Come on, Superman. Let's see some progress here.”

McCoy gentled his brisk rubbing on Spock’s arm, and it was almost a caress. “You know, you don’t have to be a superhuman. Hell, I’d settle for some simple human behavior out of you. After all, you’re halfway there, being half human and all.” He smiled at his own joke.

McCoy studied the craggy face that looked so determined even in sleep. “Relax. You don't have to do it all by yourself. You aren’t alone,” he said softly. “Jim’s here. I’m here.”

Spock didn’t object, so McCoy decided to tell him more.

“You don’t always have to be so strong.” His eyes flicked over the features that had seemed to have softened in the last few moments. “I’ve never seen you so helpless. Ain’t nothing wrong with it, mind you. And I’m not just saying that, either. You know, we all need help once in awhile. It’s just your turn now.” He frowned. “Let me be strong for you." He grinned fondly. "I promise that it won’t hurt one bit." Then he sobered. "I won't let it. I won't let anything hurt you, especially when you're not awake enough to realize it.”

And with that said, McCoy pulled Spock even closer with a sigh and went to sleep. It was the best sleep he'd had in months.

 

“Leonard, Leonard, wake up.”

McCoy squinted against the light as he forced his eyes open. “Hmm? What?” Then he recognized who had shaken his shoulder. He shot into a sitting position. “Geoffrey! How did you get here?!”

M’Benga straightened and smiled. “I made a lucky connection with a supply ship headed this way. I knew that you were worried about Spock, so I got here as soon as I could to examine him.”

Remembering, McCoy glanced at the sleeping figure lying beside him. “How’s he doing?”

“Spock is going to be alright. He’s sleeping naturally now. I woke you because the captain will be here at any moment. I thought that you wouldn’t want to be found in Spock’s arms.”

“No, you’re right,” McCoy mumbled as he pushed the covers off himself.

“How did you know to do that?” M’Benga wanted to know as he watched McCoy carefully crawl out of the biobed without disturbing Spock.

“Know to do what?” McCoy asked as he sat in the chair to pull on his boots.

“Cradle him in your arms like you did.”

“It was an impulse thing. I just did what seemed natural. He was cold and I was warm, so I decided to share my body heat.” McCoy didn’t admit that it was also something that he had wanted to do.

M’Benga beamed. “Well, it worked. Spock had a rare condition that has to be doctored partly by close physical contact with someone emotionally close to him. Generally, a parent cradles a child or a spouse helps its mate. It’s amazing that you could help Spock. I didn't realize that there was that strong of a connection between you two.”

“Any old port,” McCoy muttered as he pulled himself out of the chair to stand beside M’Benga. "I'm not that important to him."

M’Benga looked amused. “Leonard, he had a hold of you as much as you had a hold of him.”

“That just shows how ill he was,” McCoy snapped. “He felt my warmth and he embraced it.” He frowned. “Literally.”

“Well, he can be awakened anytime now. The self healing is probably complete.”

“Self healing?”

“Yes. That was the other part of the treatment. That's why he seemed to be comatose. He just needed that outside physical contact from you to finish the cycle.”

“Spock? Hear that?” McCoy goaded half in jest. “Time to rise and shine. As Duke Wayne would say, 'Daylight's burning, pilgrim.'”

Spock’s eyes blinked open so quickly that it startled McCoy.

“Holy shi--! I mean, saints!” McCoy barked.

“Spock!” a new voice shouted joyfully from the doorway. “You’re awake!” Kirk’s face was animated as Kirk rushed past M'Benga and McCoy toward the patient in the biobed.

“Yes, Captain,” Spock answered calmly. “It appears that I am.”

Kirk’s glee knew no bounds. “Great to see that you’re back with us!” Kirk couldn’t seem to get over the miracle of Spock’s resurrection.

Spock softened his hard stance in the presence of the captain whom he adored so much. “It is good to be back, Captain.”

“We’ll celebrate just as soon as you’re able! We’ll have a party! Hell, let’s start right now! Everyone is invited!”

"Maybe tomorrow, Captain," M'Benga suggested.

"Of course," Kirk relented. "It's just so great that he's going to be okay. He can tolerate some company, can't he, Dr. M'Benga? Or maybe a game of three dimensional chess?"

M'Benga smiled tolerantly. "I think those sorts of activities could be tolerated, maybe even advised. We might let him have something to eat first, though, and have a chance to get cleaned up. He'll feel better when the physical animal is appeased."

"Great! We'll get Spock some breakfast and a shower. Bones, you could play hooky from sickbay for awhile and spend some time with us, couldn't you? We need to celebrate."

Spock beamed at Kirk whose enthusiasm was clearly catching. Spock was looking better by the minute with Kirk's presence.

Maybe Kirk should have been tucked in bed with Spock instead of me, McCoy decided.

"What do you say, Bones?" Kirk prodded.

But McCoy had seen enough. “No, thanks. If you’ll excuse me from this glorious reunion, I’m going to take a shower myself and get into a fresh uniform. I've got work to do,” he declared. “And don’t exhaust the patient unduly. He needs rest from all of this. I know that I do,” McCoy muttered as he left.

“What’s his problem?” Kirk wondered. “I thought that he’d be happy, too.”

“He’s just tired, I expect,” M’Benga said diplomatically.

Spock looked at M’Benga. “I appreciate your help during my illness, Dr. M’Benga. Not everyone would have done what you did for me. You are a good friend. Thank you very much.”

“Oh, I didn’t do that, Mr. Spock,” M’Benga admitted breezily. “I just got here.”

Spock frowned. “Really?”

“That’s right, Commander. Dr. McCoy is the one who took care of you.”

“Hmm,” was the only comment that Spock made.

“Is there anything wrong with that, Spock?” Kirk wanted to know.

“I am surprised, that is all,” Spock answered.

“Well, he is your doctor,” Kirk reminded Spock.

“And much more, it appears,” Spock answered Kirk.

“Really?” Kirk asked.

Spock traded looks with M’Benga.

“And your friend, of course,” Kirk finished for Spock.

“Of course, Captain,” Spock agreed amiably. “I did forget to mention that, did I not?”

But Kirk had the nagging feeling that Spock and M’Benga were keeping something hidden.


	3. The World Turned Upside Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> McCoy takes on a bush and an alien to try to save Spock's life.

“Why did you go and do that for, damn it?!” McCoy barked as he dragged Spock aside out of harm’s way and secured them under the low branches of a handy bush. They were still out in open country, but they now had some protection as the ferocious battle raged around them. How in the hell had it all gone sour so fast with aliens whooping around the embattled Starfleet men and Spock bleeding to death in McCoy's arms? How in the hell could it have changed so fast and so violently? They had just been walking along, minding their own business, when Wham! Hell had cut loose, and they had been propelled into a situation that McCoy was having trouble comprehending.

The landing party from the Enterprise hadn’t expected an ambush from what were supposed to be ignorant aliens on this insignificant planet. The brain power of this Stone Age peoples had advanced sufficiently, though, to outsmart officers from the Enterprise. Advanced and enlightened space travelers had been led into a trap as neatly as if the ignorant aliens had been trying to kill a large animal for food. That put the ignorant aliens right up there with Einstein and Galileo as far as McCoy was concerned.

McCoy got a chill as he also realized that the ignorant aliens might be trying to kill the Starfleet landing party for food. McCoy sure as hell didn't intend to wind up as a rump roast tonight and his leftovers in a vegetable and meat stew tomorrow. That wasn't going to happen to any of his friends, either, if he could help it.

But McCoy didn’t have time to think about all of that now. He had an injured man needing his help. But McCoy kept going back and forth from now to the immediate past to now again. Concentrate! Concentrate! Hard telling how badly Spock had been hurt. Just looking at Spock, it seemed that a significant amount of his blood was streaming out of his body. The last few chaotic moments were a blur. All that McCoy could remember for sure was the alien beating on Spock and a lot of Spock’s green blood flying every direction. Great pain had washed across Spock's face then as Spock had sunk to his knees. And that's when McCoy had gone crazy with rage.

But that was in the past of a few moments ago. Spock was gasping for air now and that got McCoy's attention as he bent over the injured man under the bush.

“Don’t you die on me!” McCoy barked as his hands reached to administer aid. “Don't you dare! You’ll really piss me off if you do! Hear me, Vulcan?! You stay with me! I'll take it real personal if you don't!”

Spock’s only answer was to gasp louder and claw at the ground with his raking fingers. His dark eyes were glazed over with mortal fear and searing pain, but they were pleading with McCoy, too.

Oh, hell! The guy was in major pain! And depending on McCoy to save his life. McCoy wished he could see his patient better, but all he could see for the moment through his tears was the vision that had started it all. The sudden ambush. Whooping from the aliens. Disorientation. McCoy had tripped and gone down on one knee. And an alien had zeroed on him for the kill. McCoy put up his arms to defend himself.

Then Spock was wading between him and the danger looming over him. The alien warrior bent over McCoy was preparing to shred McCoy’s body with some kind of weapon that looked like a brush filled with razor sharp knives. What the hell was that?! McCoy thought that it looked like a feather duster gone rogue. That's when McCoy changed his mind about the ignorant aliens, and their position on the chain of evolution had gone up a few notches for McCoy. No guy with Stone Age mentality had constructed that weapon. Somebody in their cave was definitely an Einstein.

Then the alien changed his target and slashed across Spock’s chest and abdomen with that silly looking feather duster. A moment later, several dozen cuts diagonally crossed the front of Spock’s blue tunic. Green blood immediately welled up. Spock stared dumbly down at his wounds as he sucked in his breath from the searing pain.

The alien raised the deadly broom to slash across Spock’s front from the other direction. 

If the alien had succeeded, dozens of fantastically diamond shaped wounds would have appeared on Spock. That second blow probably would have also opened up Spock’s chest and abdomen to expose fragile major organs for fatal damage. If a third blow had been required, Spock would have died before his body hit the ground. That damn feather duster was a death machine.

But the alien did not get the opportunity for even the second blow.

“No!” McCoy roared as he saw a stunned and bleeding Spock drop to his knees. That scared the hell out of McCoy. Spock never dropped like that. Spock was invincible. Spock always kept going. His falling now meant that he was hurt badly this time. “You dirty bastard! Leave him alone!” McCoy screamed as tears stung at his eyelids. He knew he was about to avenge a dead man.

Then McCoy was all over the alien as they crashed to the ground with McCoy on top. Maybe he should have used a phaser or a rock or a weapon of some kind. But he was pissed off and scared for Spock, so he used the handiest weapon he had: his fists.

His hands churned and churned as he straddled the chest of the alien. “Damn you! Damn you! Damn you! You don’t hurt him! Hear me?! You don’t hurt my friend! You don't touch him at all! Never! Never! Never!” His fists chopped with each of the last three words. Therefore, he established an unbeatable rhythm. He fought snot and blinding tears as hard as he fought the alien. He couldn’t see, but still his fists pounded. He was a death machine himself.

When there was no more fight or resistance from the alien, McCoy shoved the limp body aside as if it was a sack of loosely assorted potatoes. Then he stumbled back to where Spock huddled bent over on his knees with his arms wrapped around his chest. McCoy’s hands hurt from beating on the alien and that probably meant that he had broken bones and knuckles, but he ignored his own pain as he reached down for Spock.

“Come on, damn it!” McCoy bellowed as he grabbed Spock under his arms and pulled him to his feet. McCoy grimaced from his own pain, but he fought it away. Fighting men were whirling all around them. “We’re gonna get killed out here! We have to get to shelter!”

McCoy shoved Spock down into the slight protection afforded by the dense bush. The bush stubbornly poked and prodded McCoy as he knelt, and it got McCoy's unwanted attention. Damn bush! It was an ugly bush and probably had a brutal existence clinging to life on this hostile planet. And it wanted no invaders into its space. But McCoy was damn determined to invade, so there! It wasn't much in the way of a sanctuary, either, but right now it looked like the most beautiful plant that McCoy had ever seen. Momentary safety and a cessation of brutal blows from it had improved the plant's standing for McCoy.

But McCoy had other matters on his mind.

“Why did you do that?!” he demanded of Spock as he spread his hands over Spock’s wounded chest and abdomen in an attempt to stop the profuse blood flow. Green blood spouted through his spread apart fingers. That was not a good sign and only made him angrier. “Why did you step in front of me?!”

“Could not let… you die,” Spock gasped out.

“Helluva trade-off, if you asked me,” McCoy mumbled as he stripped off his tunic and used it to staunch the blood flow. “We’re gonna get killed here. The whole damn landing party's gonna die!”

“Captain--” Spock gasped and struggled to rise.

“Lie still! Jim and the others are in a helluva better shape than you’re in! They're still on their feet! Their blood isn’t leaking out of them like a damn sieve!”

“I find… your comparison to be... highly inadequate… Doctor. My blood is more than... leaking. And a sieve strains... rather than... gushes. This is... arterial blood, as well as... venal blood. The knives on... that weapon must have... cut deeply.”

“Damn it, I don’t have time to be precise! I know what kind of blood that you’re losing. Green! That's all that's important to me! That alien got in some lucky cuts on you.” 

“Luck had… nothing to do with... it. He got in MANY... cuts on me. Vast numbers... increase the odds of... vast damage.”

McCoy pursed his lips. He hated to agree with the Vulcan, but in this case he was right. And that wasn’t good. “I wish I had my regenerator. I need to patch you up, and fast!”

“I wish that, too… Doctor.”

“I need to get you to sickbay. I need more than my hands and tunic to save you.”

“At least you have… those, Doctor.”

“Damn smart ass,” McCoy muttered in frustration and wished he could stop crying or could find some way to save Spock. He’d like to have both wishes granted, but he figured he’d be lucky if he got either.

Then McCoy noticed a welcomed change. “Well, at least Jim and the others are chasing off the natives. Technology is better than brute power, after all.”

But Spock didn’t hear him. He’d passed out.

“About time,” McCoy muttered as he checked Spock’s heartbeat to make certain that the Vulcan still lived. Then McCoy drew his hand down from Spock’s neck to a spot that wasn’t bleeding on his chest. “Stay with me, damn it. Don’t check out now. You shouldn't be the victim of a feather duster.”

McCoy studied the unconscious Spock as the sounds of the ceasing battle faded from McCoy's hearing. A wistful smile ghosted across his trembling lips. "You've been one helluva pain in the ass for me down through the years, but I'd miss your aggravation if I didn't have it in my life anymore. I just want you to know that." He slowly and gently pulled Spock into his arms and cradled the bleeding body against himself. "I've done about all I can for you now, except this. I can let you know that you are still wanted and needed in this lifetime. I'm not ready to let you go, but I'll understand if that's your decision." McCoy pinched his eyes shut as tears continued to squeeze out. "But I really, really don't want to lose you. Not now. Not ever. I know that's unrealistic, but that's the way I feel about the whole situation. If you go now, there's gonna be one person left behind who's gonna mourn you forever. Maybe it won't be out in the open for all to see. No, it'd be down deep in my heart where it will fester and poison me on the inside. So you just better stay here so I don't die by inches like that." He managed a trembling smile. "That'll mess the hell outa your karma. Can't have that happening now, can you?"

“Bones! Are you okay?!” Kirk demanded as he rushed up. "We've got the bastards on the run!" Then he saw Spock lying in McCoy's arms. "Spock?!" He fell to his knees beside the other two and looked wildly at McCoy for answers and reassurance. "How is he? Will he live?"

“He’ll be better when we can get him to the shuttle and back to the Enterprise.”

“Where’s your tunic?” Kirk asked, then looked down at Spock who had blue rags plastered all over him.

“That's right. I used my tunic as emergency bandages for Spock.”

“What happened to that alien over there? He looks like he went through a windmill. Or a hammer mill.” Then Kirk saw McCoy’s injured hands. “Did you do that to him?” he asked in awe. Kirk frowned in disbelief. "Did you kill that guy with your bare hands?"

"Oh, hell, that guy. I forgot him. I better go see if I can help him--"

Kirk caught McCoy's arm. "Never mind. It won't do any good now."

McCoy blanched. "Oh, hell," he said softly.

"What happened?" Kirk asked, just as softly.

That question brought back some of McCoy's frustration. “He pissed me off. And you’re gonna piss me off, too, if you don’t stop asking me stupid questions. I’ve had about enough shit to last me for one day. First Spock steps in front of a death blow meant for me. And then the alien tried to eviscerate Spock with a damn feather duster. What’s the world coming to, I ask, if we have to be afraid of feather dusters? It doesn’t seem right somehow. I’ll never feel safe around Aunt Tillie or her back parlor again. That's where she keeps her duster made from ostrich feathers. It always intrigued me as a kid, you know? Made from an ostrich! A real ostrich! From the other side of the world from Georgia. Aunt Tillie always kept it in a little cupboard with the tea cozies and silver service. I thought that they made an odd sort of family. The aristocratic and proper English high tea family members and the picturesque uncle from Australia. They were an exotic part of my childhood and still are. I can picture them all now in that little cupboard in the back parlor. It's secure, you know? And never changes. That's security, real security. And tradition.” His face had a faraway look on it.

Kirk frowned with concern. “Bones. You need help yourself.”

McCoy refocused. “Damn right, I do!” McCoy pulled himself to his feet.

“You’re falling apart," Kirk remarked as he stood, also. "Here, let me help you,” Kirk said with sympathy as he tried to take McCoy’s arm.

“Damn it! Not me!” McCoy shouted as he shook off Kirk’s hand. “Either give me a handkerchief so I can clean myself up or help me with Spock so he doesn’t die on us. Damn idiot has been trying to do that for the last few minutes." All that ambivalence went through McCoy's mind again. He had pulled Spock into his arms and had given Spock permission to die. Spock had been trying to die, even though McCoy had been trying to keep him. How ambivalent! You may go. But stay!

"And Spock can’t do that," McCoy was continuing. "Know what I'm getting at? I’ve got a bone to pick with him first. He can't leave until we get a few things straight. The bastard shouldn't be protecting me like that at the risk of his own life.”

"Bones. It was his decision."

"Just saying. Not right. Not right, at all."

Kirk gave McCoy a funny look, then turned. “Scotty! Grab a couple of red shirts and get over here!”

“Aye, Captain!” Scotty hustled to comply, and soon the convoy of wounded found its way back to the shuttle and then to the Enterprise.

Leonard McCoy improved quickly with hot food, peace and quiet, and a large handkerchief. He did have some bruises and puncture wounds on his upper body that needed medical attention, though. So he had to sit through the humiliation of being given succor by his own sickbay staff instead of doling it out the way that a proper doctor should be doing.

“To think that I got bested by the branches of a stubby plant,” he muttered as the sickbay staff worked over his marred flesh. “At least the Vulcan sustained wounds gotten gloriously. Me, I just faced a stationary plant. And still lost.”

“You were not attired in your uniform, Doctor,” M’Benga reminded him.

“My tunic is made of cloth! It isn’t armor! I don’t know how it’s always given me so much protection before.”

“Perhaps you were struggling in the branches of the bush.”

“I had a reason,” McCoy grumbled. “I was trying to keep a stubborn Vulcan from dying." He frowned. "How is Spock doing? I wanna see him.”

“Now, Doctor,” M’Benga cajoled. “You know that you have to rest up yourself before you can go back on duty.”

“But I fought a plant! And it suffered no visible damage! I think that soldiers who faced worst opponents than I did should deserve preferential treatment!”

“You killed an alien with your bare hands. That’s quite a feat, Doctor. Or had you forgotten?”

“Oh, yeah. That,” McCoy mumbled, not all that impressed of his prowess as other people seemed to be. "The plant gave me more of a battle. I wasn't as pissed off at it as I was the alien, though. Maybe I had more heart and anger when I faced the alien. That guy didn't have the chance to hurt me as much as that damn plant did."

M’Benga had to believe McCoy because there were more blows on McCoy from the bush than from the alien.

But M'Benga also had to talk to McCoy who could probably handle it now. M'Benga turned to the nurses who had been helping him. “Ladies, would you leave the patient and me alone for a moment?” M’Benga asked.

“Of course, Dr. M’Benga,” Chapel agreed, but cast bemused looks at McCoy as did the other nurse as they left.

“Great! Now my nursing staff thinks that you wanted some privacy to straighten me out!”

“Leonard, you know that isn’t the case, and so do they. It’s just odd to them that someone in sickbay can order you around for a change. They worship the ground you walk on, and you know it.”

“I don’t need them getting uppity on me,” McCoy grumbled.

“They just want an opportunity to baby you.”

“That’s the problem! They’ll smother the hell outa me!”

“It’ll do you some good, and they’ll love it. You need to take it easy for a few days. You're going to be sore for awhile, but you'll be alright otherwise.”

"That's always good to hear." He frowned at M'Benga. "Or aren't you telling me the truth? Is that why you got rid of the nurses?"

M’Benga leaned against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. “No, you're okay. I wanted to talk to you about Spock.”

McCoy paled. “He isn’t worse, is he?!” McCoy looked wild. "Did he die on you?!"

“No, no, nothing like that. I didn’t mean to alarm you. He just needs time to recuperate.”

“Good. I wouldn’t be able to take it if something bad happened to him because of me. He shouldn’t have been there, you know. He stepped between me and the alien just as the alien was going to attack me. I don’t know why Spock did that. Damn idiot! He shouldn’t be sacrificing his life for mine. I don't even know where he came from so fast.”

“That may have been his choice, Leonard. He may have been guarding you. That’s why he seemed to come out of nowhere to save you.”

“You’re saying that he was shadowing me? Deliberately?” McCoy frowned. “Why?”

“Good question.” M’Benga pushed away from the wall. “It probably has something to do with the bond that you have with Spock now.”

"Wait a minute! The bond?! What bond?! It's the first I've heard about a bond!"

"The bond that you share with Spock now," M'Benga repeated in a reasonable voice as if it was the most natural statement he could ever utter.

“I am bonded to the Vulcan?!” McCoy snapped with blazing eyes. “How in the hell did that happen?! And when?!”

“I didn’t say that you are bonded to him. I said that you share a bond. There’s a difference.”

McCoy didn’t know if he was happy about that news or mildly disappointed. The idea that he belonged with someone had felt comforting for the brief moment it had lasted. He hadn’t felt alone. And now the lonesomeness was back just that fast. There had always been that lonesome feeling of being odd man out after he left the protection of his doting parents. He wondered idly if that was how Spock felt.

McCoy frowned. Of course, Spock would feel like he didn’t belong. Even Spock’s relationship with Jim Kirk wasn’t exclusive. Kirk was friends with the universe and everyone in it. Spock was probably used to being an afterthought, though. Hadn't he always been treated that way, even as a child? Spock hadn't even had the parental protection that McCoy had grown up with.

Poor bastard! McCoy thought.

McCoy went back to what M'Benga had been telling him. M'Benga had been wisely silent, giving McCoy time to compute the facts in his own way. “How did I acquire that shared bond with Spock then?”

“When you crawled on the biobed with him and held him while he fought off his illness.”

“I did that just so he would know that he wasn’t alone. I didn't know that I was helping him to recuperate.”

“It was an unselfish act, just as he performed when he saved you from the alien today. That's what is important.”

“That’s the key then? Unselfishness?”

“Well, he knows that he owes you something."

"I, ah, did it again, now that I think of it," McCoy admitted sheepishly. "I kinda forgot with what all that was going on."

"Really?" M'Benga asked with interest.

"Yeah. After he was hurt and the battle finally turned in our favor. I held him and gave him permission to die, yet all the time I was letting him know how much I would miss him. He must've heard me."

"Of course, he did. And he knows that there is a stronger relationship between you two because of the shared bond.”

“So our relationship has changed?”

“Partly. And partly it is for you two to decide how much the relationship will change." M'Benga looked at McCoy carefully. "You will have to decide if you two want to become intimate with each other. It could be allowed now, as a natural part of a relationship.”

McCoy frowned. “Wait! Wait! Wait! What are you saying?! Intimate? As in, ah, sexual relations? Are you saying that would be a natural part of our new relationship?!”

M’Benga shrugged. “As I said, that is for you two to decide.”

“That’s a helluva place to leave things!”

“Leonard, it is not for me to decide.”

That sounded as ominous as if M’Benga had announced that the dead alien with his feather duster had just walked into sickbay and was demanding a rematch with McCoy.

That might’ve been better, actually. McCoy had killed the alien once with his bare hands. McCoy knew that he could handle one alien with a feather duster, especially if he was mad enough. Healing hands be damned; they could heal again. No problem.

However, he did not know if he could handle this new nebulous relationship with Spock.


	4. When In Rome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drowned rat or comely lady in blue. Which look is better for McCoy?

“How did you manage to get so wet, Doctor?” a bemused Spock asked as he observed his sputtering, drenched crew mate who had suddenly appeared before him. “We have been down on this planet for only a little while. It seems that it is going to be quite difficult to keep you out of trouble today."

"You didn't have to be here, you know!" McCoy sputtered as water continued to drip off of him. "You decided that you had to come on this mission with me, big-assed bird that you are! Sticking your nose in when you aren't wanted!"

"You have been wanting to monitor me."

"That's when you were recuperating from those horrendous wounds. You're fit as a fiddle now. We should just go our separate ways."

"Now, Doctor, it looks as if you do need an escort," Spock remarked pleasantly. "This city looks so much like Rome on Earth that one could quickly get lost in its beauty and the easy lifestyles of its citizens. Perhaps that is how you managed to get in so much trouble so quickly? Your attention was diverted in such a romantic setting as Rome? I lost track of you for only a moment. And you still have not explained how you got so wet.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know! And how come you sound like a second class pitchman for Disaster Tours International?! Romantic setting, my ass!” McCoy snapped as water dripped off his drenched hair that was plastered to his face. It was a wonder that the water was not turning into steam and billowing off his livid face in little puffs. He felt mad enough to turn water into steam.

The only thing that probably stopped McCoy from engaging in a well-deserved royal rant was that the rest of his wet body was beginning to chill from such a general heat loss so quickly. It was going to be all that he could to keep from shivering in front of the Vulcan. And THAT was not about to happen! Even if they were in the middle of a Roman summer, he was chilling. But he did not have to let that fact be known!

McCoy was not going to show any weakness to Spock! He was not going to ask for help from someone who was constantly shadowing him. Why, just the other day, Spock had offered to cut his meat for him at dinner! What in the hell did a vegetarian know about cutting meat, anyway?!

“If I would not have wanted an answer, Doctor, I would not have asked,” Spock stated in a reasonable voice. McCoy, of course, heard it as a snide smirk.

“So damn condescendingly logical!” McCoy muttered as he wiped water off his face with a downward sweep of his hand and flung the excess moisture away from himself with a snap of his wrist.

To say that McCoy was angry would be putting his emotional state mildly. He was pissed off in a grand style. This situation should require some grand grousing from him. The Vulcan did not realize what he had stirred up by addressing McCoy so innocently.

On the other hand, why give Spock the satisfaction? Ranting would only give Spock legitimacy. 

“Oh, just leave me alone,” McCoy muttered as he moved away from Spock dripping water and leaving wet boot tracks. "I'm late to my appointment."

"You cannot go to your meeting in that wet condition, Doctor," Spock argued logically.

"Don't wanna hear it!"

"But you will come down with a serious malady," Spock stated as he hurried along beside McCoy. "Then you will be the one having to recuperate, instead of me."

"Nor helping, Vulcan!"

Now, there are certain times when Leonard McCoy should just be left alone, and this was one of them. It looked like a man as smart as Spock generally seemed to be should know that much. Not so in this case. Curiosity won out over any sort of logic.

“So? What happened to you, Doctor?”

McCoy grabbed the first thought that popped into his head. He should have known better. Hadn’t enough experience with Spock taught him otherwise?

“A giant Klingon pissed on me. The bastard must not have relieved himself in a couple of days and thought I looked like a suitable pissing post.”

“I must disagree with your report, Doctor. You are not emitting the repugnant odor of concentrated ammonia associated with stale urine. Besides, a Klingon’s bladder is no larger than mine. We void our bladders on the average of seven times a day, the same as the higher animals on Earth, including man. A study of zoo animals once concluded that all mammals urinate for twenty-one seconds. It is called The Law of Urination.”

That was too much. McCoy skidded to a stop.

“You’re shitting me! You gotta be really shitting me, aren't you?! Nobody actually went out to a zoo and watched animals urinate, did they?! That would really be pissing away a day! Literally! If they did, those people really need more of a life! Or a real job!”

“It is quite true what I have told you. The reason why the urination time is the same for the field mouse as for the elephant is that the length of the urethra in each animal is proportionate to the size of the animal. Of course, the volume of discharge is also proportionate to the size of the animal. It ranges from a drop of liquid for a field mouse to gallons for an elephant. I expect that the release of that much liquid from an elephant in that short of a time frame would be similar to turning a water faucet on full blast.”

“Why does it not surprise me that you’re an expert on piss?” McCoy muttered as he started walking again. “How many gallons for an elephant?” he suddenly wanted to know. Besides, the question would distract the Vulcan from other questions and himself from his wet condition.

“Hmm?”

“How many gallons of liquid does an elephant lose every time that it voids its bladder? You know everything else about elephant piss, you should surely know that fact.”

“I am sorry that I cannot currently supply you with that statistic, Doctor. I am deeply remiss about my inadequacy and shall endeavor to learn that fact for you as soon as I am able to do the research. A general search on the computer should answer our question.”

“Never mind. Don’t sweat it. I’m sure that the only ones vitally interested in the answer would be elephant itself and maybe anyone directly downhill from the creature relieving itself.”

“Oh, how droll, Doctor,” Spock said with what passed as a smile on his face. It was more of a general relaxing of his features, but it was still a noticeable change. Anybody observing it might assume that it was an attempt at a smile, at least.

“It’s slapstick, you dumb jackass,” McCoy answered dryly. “And you’d think it was droll if you were downhill when the elephant decided to cut loose. It’d probably be a matter of every man for himself then." McCoy warmed to his topic, and he even began to appreciate the ridiculous situation for anyone near that elephant. "Women and children would be responsible for their own safety. Small people and the weak swimmers might even get washed away in the general deluge.” 

“The mental image of those scenarios is still quite amusing, Doctor.”

“Trust you to choose now to develop a sense of humor,” McCoy snapped. “And with a taste for the bizarre and the ridiculous on top of it,” he added.

“Sorry. It is probably the same reason why I believe that your current damp condition is humorous, and you do not.”

“What the hell?!” No, McCoy found nothing humorous with his wetness.

“It is like seeing someone slip on a banana peel. It is funny because the person does such a comical pratfall and because it did not happen to you. You feel relief that you were not the one to appear ridiculous or to injure yourself.”

“You’re just full of all sorts of information today, aren’t you?”

“But you are not. You still have not related why you are soaking wet.”

McCoy had forgotten about Spock’s curiosity. “Nosy as a cat, aren’t you?”

“It is in my nature, as it is in the nature of a cat’s.”

“Well, okay, I’ll tell you what happened then, so we can get that sweat over. The fact of the matter is that I fell into a fountain back there.”

“You fell into a fountain? But how?”

“Didn’t slake your curiosity any, did I?”

“Now I am curious about something new. How did you manage to fall into a fountain?”

“Well, you said that this town looked like Rome. It seems that it’s got fountains just like Rome, too. I threw some money in one to make a wish, but more coins fell than I had intended. So, I bent over to retrieve them.”

“And then you fell into the fountain,” Spock said with the satisfaction of having solved a mystery.

“That’s right.”

“I understand that happens in Venice, too. People are always falling into the canals. Except that canal water is quite dirty and smelly, despite a twice daily cleansing by the Adriatic.”

“How come I feel like I’m walking around with an encyclopedia on legs?” A passing breeze caused him to shiver.

“You are cold, Leonard. You are shaking.”

Once Spock said it, McCoy could not deny facts. He began shivering violently.

Spock stopped and pulled McCoy into his arms. Admitting it seemed to make the problem worse. McCoy’s teeth began to chatter. Spock’s hands briskly rubbed his back to stir circulate. It felt very good. And warm.

“S-s-sorry. G-g-generally it is y-y-ou who is c-c-cold.”

“Because of that, I can relate to your current dire circumstances. You need to get out of those wet clothes.”

That statement grounded McCoy somewhat. “Out here on the street? Do you suggest that I strip down here for God and man to see my assets? As if we weren’t getting enough looks already by embracing in public.”

“Let us go into this clothing store and find suitable apparel for you,” Spock said as he steered McCoy.

Once inside, they looked around, dumbfounded.

“I suppose that you didn’t take the time to notice that the clothing for sale in here was for women!” McCoy snapped.

“We cannot seek elsewhere. You cannot go back out in that cold again in your wet condition.”

For once, McCoy agreed with Spock.

“Have you gentlemen been helped?” a tall, thin, aristocratic woman inquired as she marched stiffly up to them. Her general demeanor said that she quite disapproved of them.

“No, we havne't,” McCoy snapped. “And someone desperately needs to do that!”

The woman sniffed as she gave them a second look. “Did you gentlemen come in here for apparel?" Her voice acquired icy tones. "Or a towel?”

“Well, actually, both would be welcome.” McCoy gave her a nervous grin, but considered her dour face. “But I doubt if you’ll give me either.”

Then some sort of religious charity overtook the woman. Besides, money was money. She still might be able to make a sale from these two strange men.

“Come with me,” she directed. She glanced at Spock. “Perhaps your friend would care to take a seat in the waiting area?”

“Well, he can’t get too far away,” McCoy quipped. “He’s the one with the money.”

“I see.” She tried not to be judgmental, but her opinion came across anyway.

“You don’t understand. I must have dropped my wallet when I fell in the fountain. I can't find it now.”

“You do lead an interesting life, don’t you?”

“Well, it seems to be turning out that way today.”

“Perhaps your friend should seek out your wallet while it is still there.”

After Spock left and the saleslady had taken McCoy to a backroom to dry off, McCoy decided to clear up some misconceptions.

“It isn’t what it looks like with him and me, you know.”

“Why not? He seems quite devoted to you.”

“That’s because we share a bond. But we aren’t bonded,” he hurried to explain.

“Signor, I understand. You two are in a state of flux.”

“That describes it as well as anything. Look, I really need something to wear out of here. This white cotton robe is warm and fleecy, but the occasions that I can wear it are rather limited to going to and coming from the shower. I need something for street use.”

“I perhaps have an all-purpose garment that I might be able to recommend.”

“Good! Bring it to me, if you will.”

 

McCoy stood in front of the mirror in a knee length dress and admired himself. The cap sleeves allowed for the muscles in his arms, and the slightly rounded neckline was high enough to hide a non-existent bosom.

“It is the right shade of blue on you, signor. A dress the color of midnight blue should always be a part of a la-- person’s wardrobe. It can be used an afternoon dress as well as carrying you through an evening of semi-formal dancing with a simple change of accessories. You will find many uses for it, I am certain.”

“In other words, I could go almost anywhere in it except to the grand opera or to a hog killing.”

The clerk stiffened. “Whatever the range of the gentleman’s social activities, I am certain that this dress would suffice,” she said crisply.

At that moment Spock reentered the store. “I found your wallet, Doctor. Wet, but safe.” Then he stopped in his tracks when he saw the vision before him.

McCoy had turned from the mirror, and the clerk had stepped aside so that she did not obstruct the view.

“Leonard.” Spock’s eyes shone with appreciation. “But you look so beautiful. That dress is divine on you.”

McCoy found himself blushing to the roots of his hair. “Thank you,” he lisped . His voice seemed not to possess any range higher or stronger than a soft pitch. And was that the hint of a Southern accent creeping in? Spock's blatant admiration made him feel so girly.

“Does the gentleman wish to purchase the garment he is wearing?”

“Oh, yeah!” McCoy answered breathlessly. He tore his eyes away from the awe on Spock’s face. “Is it strange that a man wants a dress?” he asked the clerk.

“When in Rome--” she answered airily. Then he glanced at Spock before looking back at McCoy. “Besides, in this case, I believe that it would be a terrible mistake on your part not to do so. You seem to have made quite an impression.”

“Yeah, I have, haven’t I?” he said in a rush of glad relief and elation. “Thanks for everything you've done for me today. Tell you what, I’ll dance at your next wedding,” McCoy promised the clerk in his best flirty style.

That won over the clerk and she melted. They parted as friends with McCoy forgiven and the clerk with a fat tip.

 

Scotty’s eyes bugged out and he blinked several times when McCoy in his blue dress and Spock carrying a sack of damp clothing materialized on the transporter pads of the Enterprise. Scotty managed to restrain himself from comment, but it was difficult. These two, and Kirk, gave Scotty plenty of practice and an excellent excuse to reach for more Scotch.

Kirk suffered no such compunction for discretion. “I see that you managed to get in some couture shopping at a first-rate boutique while you were on the surface, Bones. Nice. Very flattering. Good color on you. Very wearable, too. It goes well with your service boots for a daytime look, and a switch to simple heels would suffice for evening wear.”

Everyone in his life was suddenly a style expert! McCoy decided.

“That's what the clerk said," McCoy finally managed to mumble.

Spock’s eyebrow went up slightly. He was well aware of the discomfort of the man standing beside him, but he was not about to help McCoy any.

"Mr. Spock, I assume that you were also a part of this little adventure?"

"Oh, yes, Captain," Spock answered with an imperceptible grin playing along his lips. 

McCoy flinched. That Vulcan bastard was enjoying himself at McCoy's expense! Why, Spock could barely keep from laughing!

“Yes, well, I hope that a full explanation will be in your reports.”

“Of course, Captain,” Spock assured him.

McCoy grunted an appropriate response that wasn't really language. The other two were really lucky that they were not being treated to what McCoy was really thinking. He had visions of both of them roasting in a place ruled over by Satan.

“That’s all, then," Kirk said. Then he pointedly looked at McCoy in his dress. "You, ah, gentlemen, may be dismissed.”

And with McCoy glaring a hole in the back of the Vulcan ahead of him, the two ‘gentlemen’ left Kirk’s quarters. McCoy just knew that Spock was fighting a smile. But McCoy couldn't blame him. If all of this would have happened to Spock, McCoy would have ribbed him for a week.


	5. The First Ever I Saw Your Face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A diplomatic mission nearly goes awry when Spock and McCoy have to pretend that they are lovers to deter the unwanted ardor of an alien chief.

“So I want the three of us to go down to this planet of Darmose on a diplomatic mission of great importance,” Jim Kirk was telling his two top officers. “It is vital that we win the trust and good faith of Chief Arthaud. If he joins in an alliance with the Federation of Planets, then rulers from other planets in this sector will fall in line. And I cannot stress, gentlemen, how advantageous that would be to all of us.” Kirk grinned. “Adventure has its place, but peace and calm are easier on the nerves.”

“They are that, Captain,” Spock agreed.

"We want to keep Chief Arthaud as happy as possible."

"Of course, Captain," Spock agreed again.

“Bones, you’ve been pretty quiet about the whole situation. Do you have anything to say about this mission, or are you still getting over the ill effects of your cold?”

Spock glanced at the man standing beside him. At least McCoy had lost the flush of fever from the illness that he’d contracted after falling in the Roman fountain and then running around the windy streets in a wet uniform.

“Just a few sniffles, Jim. I’ll be well enough to accompany you and Spock. I’m anxious to examine the bodies of these people. I understand that they are a very handsome species. Akin, I’ve heard, to the physiques of the Vulcan peoples.”

“Why, thank you, Doctor.”

“I wasn't the one who said that!” McCoy snapped. “I said that I’ve heard of that comparison, not that it’s engraved in stone somewhere high on some mountaintop!”

But Spock was not to be deterred. He seemed very pleased and placid about his left-handed compliment. Spock really could be an egocentric ass, McCoy decided.

Relations between Spock and McCoy had been somewhat strained since their little adventure in the city that looked so much like Rome, Italy. On the one hand, there was now an unconscious intimacy that had never been between them before. They seemed drawn together, as if a social relationship between them was the most natural thing there could be. On the other hand, there was a new awkwardness between them that had never been there before, either. A lot of that had been caused by an awareness of each other that had developed in those few minutes when McCoy had been wandering around so drenched with the ever faithful Spock at his side. It had intensified when Spock had pulled McCoy into his arms for warmth and had gone into outer space when Spock saw McCoy modeling that midnight blue dress in the boutique. McCoy never forgot that look of awe on Spock's face, and Spock never forgot how charming and demure McCoy had looked.

Now the two guys could fluctuate between sitting together in quiet intimacy to the other extreme of avoiding each other in the most ridiculous ways possible. It seemed to depend on when one of them remembered that there was supposed to be a strained relationship between them. Otherwise, they gravitated to each other.

Jim Kirk himself had seen odd behavior between them, but he knew that their relationship had never been a normal one. Kirk was not overly concerned. As long as they did their jobs and did not kill each other, he was happy. Spock and McCoy seemed to recognize their captain’s criteria and managed to stay within his guidelines. They seemed to be able to work together in harmony and could even advance their overall mission by following Starfleet directives. For the time being, that was all that was important.

“Well, now we’ve got that settled,” Kirk said as he smoothed over those rough edges and set the whole business aside for now. "We can get on with our mission down to Darmose. Get your gear and be ready to beam down in twenty minutes.”

“Aye, Captain,” Spock and McCoy replied, then left the bridge of the Enterprise together in the turbo lift.

Well, another mission, Jim Kirk thought as he watched them go. He hoped that his two top officers could leave their private tensions on the Enterprise and be ready to work together down on the surface of the planet. He also hoped that this mission would be interesting. Kirk hated to be bored. He generally found, though, that his day got more exciting whenever he had Spock and McCoy with him. They seemed to draw all sorts of unique situations to themselves and therefore to him.

Kirk hoped that would be the case on the surface.

He should have remembered that sometimes a person should be careful what is wished for. Because wishes sometimes come true in the most peculiar ways.

 

The people of Darmose were a strongly handsome people, alright. The main problem was that their women were as strongly handsome as their men. Despite the addition of feminizing details such as upswept hairdos with escaping kissy curls left dangling from key locations around their heads and the wearing of flowing garments reminiscent of Ancient Greek clothing, nothing helped the female of this species. At least not in the eyes of the visiting landing party from the Enterprise. Apparently, though, that wasn't a deterrent when it came to bedroom activities to increase the population of the planet. Men and women of all ages seemed to be everywhere. Propagation was alive and strong in this society, despite the lack of femininity in the women.

“Nothing too dainty about them, is there?” McCoy muttered as he observed several young ladies casting amorous glances at him and Kirk. The 'dainty' young maidens looked capable of cutting lumber without saws. Or even hands. A look from them might be all it took for a tree to fall over, dead.

“Hush, Bones, they’ll hear you,” Kirk cautioned as he tried not to give too much encouragement to the young ladies. He had to appear friendly, though.

“I sure as hell wouldn’t want that,” McCoy muttered. “Those women look muscular enough to take me down. You and I might have to be careful, Jim. We might be pretty enough to attract the attention of the men on this planet who only have these women around them. We might be looking very fair and delicate to the males about now. We might get to be hot commodities. It's happened before.”

Jim Kirk’s blonde good looks and sunny personality and McCoy’s sweet charms and feisty attitude might indeed be coveted by these men of Darmose who were not accustomed to too much daintiness. McCoy could just envision him or Kirk becoming kept sex toys in a secret crib maintained by one of these aliens.

Of course, Jim Kirk was mildly titillated by that prospect. The females were too masculine for his tastes, but the males were another matter. The guys looked like they could be formidable and lusty lovers. Kirk could daydream for a long time about several of the huskier examples of manhood whom he’d met already on the surface of Darmose. McCoy, on the other hand, was not as impressed. Perhaps it was because most of his thoughts were about Spock as a possible person with whom to have a dalliance. When one is in the first throes of a potential relationship, other relationships do not stir much interest. 

But, however McCoy and Spock each viewed sparks flying between one or both of them with the locals of either sex, neither of them had expected what really happened. There were sparks, alright, but they were between Chief Arthaud and Spock. It was love at the first sight of the haughty Spock for the torpedoed Darmose leader.

“What the hell?!” McCoy protested as he and Kirk watched the nearby King Arthaud pressing his interest as if he and Spock were alone and not with dozens of Darmose citizens and Spock's stunned crew mates. “What’s going on with those two?!”

“Spock appears to have made a conquest,” Kirk answered with a bemused look as he tried to compute the new development himself.

“Spock?! And the chief?!”

“That’s right. Look, Arthaud is offering his hand to Spock. At least, that’s what I think he’s offering. There’s cloth draped over it, and it is hanging rather low on Arthaud. Can you tell? Is that his hand?”

McCoy's eyes blazed. “I don’t care what it is! He can’t be offering anything to Spock!”

“Why?” Kirk asked with a grin. “Jealous?”

McCoy snorted. “There’s nothing between Spock and me!”

Kirk frowned. “That’s not what I meant, Bones. You generally draw the attention of some person who gets the hots for you, not Spock. This is all sort of novel. Spock is the innocent, little flower who needs to be protected from the sex-starved alien this time and not you.”

“Yeah, and Spock’s eating up the attention! Just look at the way that he is catering to Chief Arthaud!" McCoy craned his head to see better. "I think he's interested in what's under that cloth!”

“It's probably not the cloth. He’s probably trying to save our mission. Remember? We want the people of Darmose to join the Federation, not become rebels just because of a little misunderstanding with us now.”

“A little misunderstanding?! Just what are you willing to sacrifice for the success of this mission?! Do you want Spock to remain here as the new queen of Darmose?! Arthoud's hand under that cloth looks pretty determined to me!”

“Oh, I doubt if it will go that far, Bones. After all, Spock’s got a level head and--”

“Many a maiden has had her head turned by a smooth-talking devil who rules an empire! Just think of the power and prestige that would go with a position like what Arthaud could offer!”

“Bones, you’re exaggerating--”

“Captain Kirk!” called the muscular Chief Arthaud as he stood beside Spock. They did make a handsome couple. Both were dark and serene and majestic. They might've been made for each other.

Hmm, Kirk thought. Maybe I'll have to rethink this situation, he thought as he hurried to the pair with McCoy trailing him.

“Yes, Chief Arthaud? How may I help you?” Kirk inquired.

Arthaud turned burning eyes on Spock. “You can give your Mr. Spock to me in marriage. Then you can have your treaty with my planet.”

Kirk felt McCoy tense beside him and heard McCoy make a noise like he was choking. Kirk put out a cautionary hand to stop McCoy before he regained his voice.

“I am sorry, Chief, but Mr. Spock cannot be a bargaining chip. This treaty is between governments and not between individual people.”

“It is between individual people now, Captain,” Arthaud declared as he turned his massive head toward Kirk. “Mr. Spock will be mine, or there will be no treaty. He and I are both free, consenting adults, so nothing can stop our marriage.”

Spock looked a little alarmed at that declaration. For once, he had indecision written on his face. He did not want to be responsible for an aborted treaty, but he was not ready to change his lifestyle so violently, either. He kind of liked his life on the Enterprise and really hadn't planned to alter his situation anytime in the immediate future. But his status seemed to be on the verge of being changed for him.

While being queen of his own planet was tempting, there would still be the dubious prospects of sharing a bedchamber with this brutish looking alien. Spock's upper lip twitched. If he had any say in this matter, he thought that he would decline the proposal. But refusals might not have any place on this bargaining table.

Kirk saw Spock's upper lip twitch and knew that Spock was under great stress. Kirk had to rescue his friend. “I do not know if I can go along with that, Chief--”

Arthaud's eyes snapped at Kirk. “I will look with great disdain at anyone who tried to prevent our nuptials. I intend to make Mr. Spock my blushing bride.” Then he quieted as he reached out and stroked down Spock’s cheek with the back of his hand in a very intimate fashion.

Spock took the caress with mixed acceptance. Nobody touched him without his consent, and yet Arthaud had stroked him as though he already possessed him.

Spock's eyes dilated. Chief Arthaud took it as a sign of returned ardor and gave Spock a come-hither look. Spock looked helpless and confused.

Those signs of Arthaud's assumed entitlement and Spock's sexual reluctance were the final straws for McCoy. He stepped forward. “No!”

“Bones--” Kirk cautioned.

“Who dares speak?!” Arthaud roared as he turned with blazing eyes.

“Me! McCoy!”

“How dare you?!”

McCoy took another step forward. “Spock cannot be marrying anyone else!” he protested. “I won’t allow it!”

“Doctor--” Spock cautioned.

“You?!” Arthaud roared again. "You?!" The chief seemed to be stuck on that one word, as if it was McCoy's actual name.

“Yes, me.”

“You will not allow?” questioned the chief. Then he saw the man clearer who had spoken. “You, a puny Earthling?” McCoy objection seemed to amuse him. As indeed it should. What could McCoy do against the manpower at the chief’s disposal?

Because McCoy was so greatly outnumbered, the chief decided to play along with McCoy. It would amuse the chief.

“What claim do you believe that you have on Spock?”

“We share a bond,” McCoy declared with force as if Spock was carrying his child.

McCoy saw Spock’s sharp intake of breath. Shut up, Vulcan! Let’s not split hairs now.

Arthaud frowned. “A bond?”

“That’s right.” McCoy crossed his fingers hidden inside his other palm behind his back. “We are mated.”

Spock’s eyes enlarged with that news, and McCoy heard a strangled sound behind him that would have come from Jim Kirk. Shut up, the both of you! McCoy silently ordered. I'm playing this hand of poker! Don't even blink! Either of you!

“Is this true, Spock?” Arthaud thundered at his intended.

“Dr. McCoy is doing the talking,” Spock managed to choke out. He was as puzzled as anyone else and had no idea what McCoy would say next.

Arthaud studied Spock. He apparently knew something about Vulcans. “I know that you cannot lie, Spock. But your ‘mate’ certainly could. Is that why he is doing your talking now?”

Silence rang around the heads of the main group.

“You don’t believe me?” McCoy bluffed.

“My belief is not what is in question, Doctor. Your relationship with Spock is.”

Well, Chief Arthaud had that much straight.

“We share a bond,” McCoy declared again, but more belligerently this time.

“I want proof,” Arthaud declared.

“Of what?” McCoy gasped. He knew that Spock and Kirk both had the same bewildered look on their faces as he did.

“That you two share a bond.”

“You expect us to strip down and go at it right now, right in front of everyone?!”

“The people of Darmose are not heathens, Doctor. I do not know what your customs of mating are, but our lovemaking is done in privacy.”

“Well, ours is, also!” McCoy swore. At last! A truth that he could aver adamantly!

“Therefore, you will be given privacy. But I want proof. Therefore, I will listen. I will be discreet enough not to watch.”

It was McCoy's turn for his eyes to bug out in disbelief. “You will--”

“Listen, Doctor. You heard me right. And it better be hot lovemaking that will melt the metal hinges of your bed.”

“Well, I don’t know if we have that kind of fire in us," McCoy reneged. "We're kinda tired after our long journey to your planet and all of the grand welcoming that you have given us and--”

“Silence!" Arthaud roared. "You will find that kind of fire, Doctor, or most assuredly the people of Darmose and our neighboring planets will never trust the Federation again. We will light up this end of the universe with the all-consuming fires of war.”

“That strong, huh?” McCoy mocked with sarcasm.

“Of that, I can make an adamant guarantee, Doctor.”

Oh, hell, McCoy thought, but he smiled with assurance at King Arthaud. Behind Arthaud, Spock was looking as stricken as McCoy felt. The Vulcan really had to work on his facial expressions. But maybe McCoy wouldn't be so good at indifference if the future of his ass was on the line.

"So, how do we go about this?" McCoy asked later as he and Spock stood looking down at the ornate bedstead before them.

The bed looked like something out of a Southern plantation home or a French chateau. It certainly looked overdone to the two crewmen from the Enterprise who were used to narrow, unadorned pallets. And how in the hell did these uncultured aliens come upon trappings like these? After all, the aliens didn't seem too far removed from the tree they'd crawled down from or the chilly cave they'd emerged from. How come now they had to have a bed that looked like it came out of a New Orleans brothel?

It is a universal truth that when simple, uncultured people acquire wealth, they mistakenly buy gaudy furniture and decorations with the false idea that the purchases will make them seem refined. Sadly, the exact opposite proves true, and the costly trappings are just plain trashy.

"Me?" Spock asked with true amazement. "I thought that you had a plan, Doctor."

"Do I have to think of everything?! I got you out of the blissful honeymoon night that you would now be enjoying with Arthaud. I'd think that you'd be grateful. But, oh, no, not you! Now you want rid of the whole prospects of a marriage with the guy."

"Doctor, it is a blissful night of married love with you that now has me perplexed. If we do not convince Chief Arthaud of our mated ardor, THEN I will again have to be contemplating a honeymoon night with the Chief."

"Boy, whine, whine, whine! That's all that I'm hearing from you!"

"Doctor, you are not realizing the seriousness of the situation. I am an officer on the Starship Enterprise by choice. If I had wished to become the queen of some third rate planet, I would not have troubled myself to have trained so arduously for Starfleet. I would have instead pampered and babied myself with perfumed baths and dined on only the most exotic fruits of the universe so that my flesh would be cushy and soft. I would have become an expert on the arts of love instead of science."

"I believe that's the longest speech that I've ever heard you utter, at least one that wasn't about Starfleet Academy or Jim Kirk." McCoy frowned. "And what's this talk about soft and cushy flesh?"

"That's the type of flesh that all harlots try to have, Doctor."

"I'm not even going to ask how you know so much about harlot flesh and how to keep it appealing. Look, Arthaud will be here any moment. Just follow my lead, okay?"

Since Spock could do little else, he agreed. A moment later Arthaud entered the chamber.

"You gentlemen are not to think of my presence," Arthaud instructed. "Just do what you generally do when you retire after a long day. And don't hold back with anything." And with that, he slipped behind a curtain.

That gave McCoy an idea. Much to Spock's amazement, McCoy jumped into the bed and tunneled under the overstuffed coverlet. "Are you ever coming to bed, Vulcan?" he whined.

Spock looked at him, stupefied. "I do not know what you mean--"

"Oh, you're going to be that way, I expect! Acting innocent again!"

"Doctor, I assure you that I am not acting."

"Haul your green ass to bed! Now! I wanna get some sleep before I'm very much older! You know that I can't sleep without you in here with me, but don't let that go to your head! Don't think that I need you, or something stupid like that! And calling me pet names like 'Doctor' isn't going to help you very much, either!"

Not quite knowing what to do, Spock complied. He lay down beside McCoy, but was still puzzled about what would happen next.

"Well, why the hell are you way over there?! What the hell do you need?! A written invitation?!" He grabbed Spock into his arms.

"Why are you so angry?" Spock's voice sounded muffled because his head was buried in McCoy's armpit.

McCoy pulled back so he wasn't engulfing Spock. "I saw the way that you were flirting with the chief! Trying to make me jealous, weren't you?!"

"Doctor, I assure you that he was the one who was attracted to me."

"Yeah, I know. Innocent and pure as the driven snow, aren't you?! Unaware of your sexuality! Yeah, sure! Likely story!"

"But--"

"Oh, shut up, and get on with the action!"

"The... action?" Spock was back to being baffled.

"Now I expect that you're going to play the innocent with me! Stop messing around! Give me that beautiful bang of yours so I can sleep!"

"I do not know if I am currently capable of delivering a 'beautiful bang' to you in the manner that you wish. I fear that I cannot accommodate you."

"And I suppose that you could accommodate your new love interest?" McCoy whined.

"Doctor. I assure you that my 'beautiful bangs' are for you, and you alone."

"Huh?" That sure as hell wasn't in any script, yet McCoy knew that Spock had just spoken a truth. The trouble was that Arthaud should not be hearing any of Spock's truth. McCoy had to cover it. "Oh, just shut up then, and go to sleep." He nestled the Vulcan against him.

All was quiet for several moments. Then Spock spoke up. "That is it? That is all that you had planned? Cuddling?"

McCoy stiffened. "That's all that you're interesting in, isn't it?! With you, it's just sex, sex, sex!"

"But I thought that was why we were here to do--"

"Don't go begging around now! You had your chance!" And with that, McCoy shoved out of Spock's arms and rolled away from him.

"Doctor?" Spock asked in puzzlement as he braced up on his elbows and stared at McCoy's back.

"I'm not listening to anything else you have to say! You heart breaker! Flirting with someone else!"

"Leonard," Spock said softly. "There is no one else."

McCoy squeezed his eyes shut. Oh, hell! At any other time, he would be relishing what the Vulcan was confessing to him.

"Oh, just shut up so we can get some sleep. We'll talk about it later, when I'm not so heartbroken."

Spock had no choice but to comply.

The bedchamber got quiet, and Spock and McCoy started to drift off. The sounds of a door opening and closing later did not even disturb them.

They arose the next morning and looked sheepishly at each other. They spoke in grunts and monosyllables as they used the bathroom and got dressed. It wasn't until later that they considered their situation with Chief Arthaud. What fate was in store for them now, especially Spock?

Jim Kirk gave them a questioning look at breakfast, but he got only a noncommittal shrug from McCoy. What, after all, could McCoy tell Kirk?

The Enterprise trio continued to be silent as they were finally joined by Chief Arthaud.

Arthaud looked defeated, as if he had been beaten in battle. His retiring attitude puzzled the space explorers.

"You will have your treaty, Captain Kirk," Arthaud finally said in the midst of strained small talk.

"I will?" Kirk asked, amazed. "I mean, thank you, Chief Arthaud. We will uphold it honorably."

"That will please me very much," Arthaud said. "We will honor the treaty, also."

"Thank you." Kirk saw that McCoy and Spock were as amazed as he was, and puzzlement over what had just happened finally got to be too much for him. "Excuse me, Chief. It might not be too wise of me to ask, but what did it take for you to change your mind?"

"Captain Kirk, the treaty hinged on my getting Spock as my bride," Arthaud said without enthusiasm.

"Yeah, I remember that stipulation."

"But Spock was not free. His mate spoke up."

"Yeah, I remember that, too. But you wanted proof."

"And I got proof."

Kirk grinned all over himself. "Yeah?" He envisioned all sorts of sexual wrestling matches between Spock and McCoy in bed. Maybe he should've been with Arthaud in that bedchamber. He probably missed some really good action, ravenous little voyeur that he could be. "They really went at it, right?"

"Wrong! They argued! They plagued each other! McCoy especially was a brutal little bitch! He tempted Spock one moment and then denied him the next! And Spock tolerated it! Poor devil! And then they went to sleep without doing anything!"

"They did?" Kirk asked in amazement. Then he recovered himself. "That's our Spock and McCoy for you! Regular little sexpots! We never know what they're going to be doing next!"

"If I took Spock, I would have a queen in name only. Because his heart would not be mine. And I would want him to be more than a figurehead. That is not what attracted me to him."

"Sorry, but sometimes we cannot always have what we desire." Kirk shrugged. There seemed to be nothing left to say, except for goodbyes. "We must be on our way. It would be kinder to you, too, Chief, if we just left quickly."

Arthaud nodded, then turned to Spock and McCoy. "Nothing could come between the passion that is between you two. I understand that now. Last night, you acted like a long established couple. If I could offer some advice, though. Do not go to sleep angry with each other. No argument is that important. Remember what is really important."

"Thank you, Chief," McCoy said. "We'll remember that."

Chief Arthaud did not say goodbye to Spock. Rather, he simply turned and walked away.

"He's not such a savage, after all," McCoy muttered as he and Spock and Kirk walked toward their shuttle. "In fact, he might be more civilized than any of us."

None of them were too proud of that day's work, but they had gotten their treaty. And maybe had learned something in the process.


	6. Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can Kirk ever get McCoy and Spock headed in the same direction?

“You seem awfully glum for the Christmas season, Bones. Does it have anything to do with our mutual Vulcan friend?”

“I expect that my damn heart’s on my sleeve again, isn’t it?” McCoy snorted.

“I think that it’s kind of cute, you and him.”

“I’m glad that somebody’s appreciating the situation!” McCoy snapped back. “I sure as hell am not!”

“Why not? The way I see it, you have the upper hand.”

McCoy was truly mystified. That would be a novel position for him if he did have the upper hand in his convoluted relationship with Spock.

"How do you figure that?” McCoy asked, wanting to hear more about Kirk’s perspective.

“You two share a bond.”

McCoy deflated. Oh, hell, that again. Kirk had nothing new, after all.

“According to him,” McCoy muttered without enthusiasm. “I don’t see it myself. Actually, I don’t see that much of him. And when I do, he’s always trying to protect me or offer me some stupid service that I didn’t even know that I needed. Next, he’ll be spreading his cape over a mud puddle the same way that Sir Francis Drake did for Elizabeth I of England.”

“That’s the key, you know.”

“What? Spreading a cape over mud puddles for me? We don’t come across that many mud puddles out here in space. And certainly not on the Enterprise.”

“No, you missed my point. The two of you are sharing a bond.”

“Well, yeah.”

“According to him.”

“Well, yeah.”

“Bones, you aren’t seeing it! You don’t really believe in sharing a bond with him, do you?”

“No,” he admitted.

“But he does!”

McCoy suddenly understood what Kirk was meaning. “That’s kinda like voodoo only working if you believe that it works.”

“Yeah!”

“Or chain letters.”

“Yeah!”

“Or karma.”

“Oh, that’s real,” Kirk declared. “You don’t wanna mess with karma! If that shit doesn’t get you now, it will later on! If not this lifetime, then the next! Or the one after that one! It’s got Time and Eternity on its side! It can play you like a cat does with a mouse because it knows that it will win eventually. It’s not a case of ‘if,’ but ‘when.’”

“So you're saying that you kinda believe in karma?”

“Don’t you, Bones?! Are you willing to take a chance against a sure thing?”

McCoy frowned. “Well, since you put it that way--”

“That’s what I thought. Look, I might have a solution for you with Spock. At least it would get two over your stalemate, one way or another.”

“Well, I don’t know.” He thought. “At least, I do have something now with Spock. It might not be much, but he still is in my life. I don’t want to lose him completely.”

“Where’s your spirit of adventure, Bones?! Your willingness to take a chance?! Why, you might win it all! Just think of what you could win! Spock! The pointed ears! The mighty Vulcan package that I’m certain that you’ve had hints about! Why, I know that much. I was there when you two sardines came tumbling out of that utility closet. I saw the shape that you were both in. It’s a wonder that you both didn’t have holes punched in your abdomens!”

“Win it all? That would be nice. But I have just as much of a chance of losing it all, too.” He sighed. “Okay, what’s your solution?”

“Well, perhaps I used the wrong word.”

McCoy sighed to himself. How many times hadn’t he heard promises of grandiose happenings from Kirk only to learn that the guarantee was so thin as not to exist? Kirk just had faith that he could work miracles. And the funny thing was that Kirk’s plan generally worked. It worked, though, because of Kirk’s incredible luck. Or Kirk’s ability to form Plan B on the spur of the moment.

“Alright, Captain Kirk, what is your plan?”

“The Enterprise Christmas party and dance are coming up.”

“Yeah, what about it?”

“How about if it is a girl ask boy dance?”

“That’s Sadie Hawkins. And it’s nowhere close to Leap Year or the twenty-ninth of February.”

“Bones! Bones! That’s not the idea! You can ask Spock!”

“Yeah, like he’s going to say ‘Yes’ to that--”

“Tell him that you’ll be wearing that blue dress that came from Rome. He won’t be able to say ‘no’ to you or to that dress. I guarantee it. I saw that look on his face when he was looking at you in that dress. You definitely had his interest.”

There it was again. A guarantee from Kirk. And so thin as to be almost non-existent. McCoy wished that he could be as enthusiastic or as certain as Kirk. Looking at Kirk’s face shining with confidence, though, McCoy could not crush Kirk’s belief. Why, it’d be like telling the guy that Santa Claus didn’t really exist except in the hearts of those who truly believed.

McCoy worked up a thin smile for Kirk. “It just might work, Jim. Great plan.”

“Of course, it will work!” Kirk declared as he slapped McCoy’s arm. “Just remember that you’re the one in charge! You've got the advantage!”

McCoy wished that that guarantee wasn’t also paper-thin.

 

“You are looking rather comely in your beautiful blue dress, Doctor,” Spock remarked as they sat balancing small plates of cookies and mixed nuts on their knees. Glasses of unidentifiable frothy pink punch were clasped in their hands.

McCoy preened. “Why, thank you, Mr. Spock. And you are looking very nice in your dress uniform, also.” If the music at the Christmas party was any louder, they might not be able to hear each other.

"Thank you. I thought that it would be rather appropriate for a holiday party.”

"You are so right."

McCoy looked around at the other party goers. "My, everyone looks nice this evening, don't they?"

"Yes, they do," Spock agreed. "It is good that everyone has the opportunity to dress up occasionally and use their party manners."

"Yes, it is." This was the most boring conversation that McCoy had ever taken part in, but he was determined to act like he was having a wonderful time. It was all in thinking positively. McCoy unconsciously fluffed the bouffant hem of his dress with a flick of his wrist.

Spock followed that unconscious movement, then openly studied McCoy's dress. "I do not recall your dress being so sparkly and swishy when you purchased it. Has the skirt always had that much fullness to it?"

"It was daytime then," McCoy muttered absently.

"Oh, it changes then?" Spock inquired with curiosity.

McCoy refocused his attention. "Yes, it's the strangest thing. It seemed to change with the nighttime." He glanced at Spock. "Or maybe it changes in the eyes of the beholder. And if the beholder is openly appreciating it, then it represents itself, and me, in a flattering way. And then I feel so girly." And just by saying it, McCoy felt so pretty and desirable. That flash of avid interest in Spock's eyes also helped.

"Maybe it is a magical dress. For it has magically transformed you."

"Why, thank you, Mr. Spock. That's the nicest compliment that you have ever given me."

Spock blushed all over himself. "Why, thank you." He squirmed. "Does it seem a little warm in here?"

The Vulcan? Warm?! But McCoy did not want his sarcasm to ruin the moment. "It's the occasion, and being all dressed up. That puts a social strain on us."

"Yes, it does, does it not?"

And we're back to boring conversation, McCoy thought.

"And it appears that some of the guests have begun to dance," Spock noted.

"That they have," McCoy murmured in return. And I'd sure as hell liked to be! he thought. So why in the hell don't you ask me, you big lummox?!

And then it dawned on McCoy. It was a girl ask boy dance, and Spock was patiently waiting for him to make a move.

"Mr. Spock," McCoy said as he turned with a sweet smile toward his date. "Would you give me the honor of dancing with you?"

“I would be most charmed, Dr. McCoy.” The relief on Spock’s face was quite visible as he jumped to his feet and offered his hand to McCoy. “If you will allow me, Doctor, I believe that it is still the gentleman’s duty to help a lady from her chair.”

“Why, thank you, Mr. Spock,” McCoy said demurely as he accepted the proffered hand and stood. “I agree completely with you.”

They set their plates of snacks and drinks on their chairs, then turned to each other. There was nothing left to do but dance, but suddenly they got shy with each other.

Damn it, it's Spock! McCoy thought. Just Spock! You know Spock! Nothing new here! Just Spock!

McCoy smiled at Spock and Spock smiled back.

Just Spock.

Just McCoy.

A moment of magic happened then as they gazed at each other. Just Spock. Just McCoy. But so much more now. Never just Spock and just McCoy again. For magic had indeed touched them.

They went into each others arms then, and a mutual contended sigh was almost heard rising from both of them. This is what they had both been wanting for a long time, but awkwardness and silly pride and social taboos had prevented it. Now it just seemed so right. So natural. So wonderful.

“This is a special evening, Mr. Spock,” McCoy noted as they blended with the other couples on the dance floor. "And the setting is beautiful."

“That it is, Doctor. It would be difficult to recognize the dayroom. I am always amazed at the variety and the beauty that the staff can produce with the scantest materials available. This almost looks like a veranda surrounded by flowering trees.”

“I suppose that they could import manufactured items, but it’s homier to have handmade decorations.”

“It certainly lends a charm and coziness to the evening.”

“Yes, it does.” How had their magical evening gotten boring again? For if this conversation continued in this vein, McCoy would start to wonder why he’d even bothered to have made a special production of getting ready for this evening. He might as well have worn a duty uniform and brought cigars and bourbon along for a rousing and drunken evening with Scotty and his gang. That is, if he could get Scotty away from Uhura.

“I like that dress on you very much, Doctor.” Spock sounded a little breathless. Maybe it was because he was feeling so daring. He had finally come out and blatantly said what he had been dodging around saying all evening.

That got McCoy's attention and the magic back. “Why, thank you for saying that. I do like the chance to get to wear it again.”

"Well, you can wear it for me any time that you so choose."

"Really?" McCoy asked with interest.

Spock blushed as he swept McCoy around in some fast turns that were difficult to follow. He finally settled down to dance in a more sedate pattern, but he remained silent.

McCoy couldn't believe it. Had he stirred Spock that much?

A few moments passed as they danced, then Spock spoke up. “Oh, I have not had the opportunity to tell you, Doctor. I have obtained some information that had puzzled us at one point.”

“Oh?” At least, this would be interesting. And a welcomed change from the overly nice conversation that they had been trading as if they were a couple of nervous seventh graders at a school dance.

“Yes,” Spock said smugly. “It is all rather amazing, too. An elephant voids forty-two and a half gallons of liquid each time that it empties its bladder. That works out to one and a half gallons per second." He beamed with the delivery of his information. "It would be a watery spate of worthy note and could hardly be ignored by anyone in the immediate vicinity.”

McCoy couldn't stop the sarcasm. “Really, Vulcan? Elephant piss? Why is that important?”

“As we previously surmised, it would be important if someone was downhill from such a formidable discharge.”

“I’m not in the mood to talk about elephant piss.”

“Sorry,” Spock mumbled.

“I didn’t get dressed up to--” Then McCoy saw the crestfallen look on Spock’s face and realized that Spock had been trying to make conversation. Granted, stupid conversation, but still conversation. In fact, Spock had taken several stabs at making conversation, and McCoy had discouraged the attempts.

Time for McCoy to be the Southern belle that he’d been raised to be.

“Thank you for finding that information, Spock," McCoy said softly as he batted his eyelashes. "That was very considerate of you. I had forgotten about it, but it is interesting to know.”

Spock looked quite relieved. “You are most welcomed, Doctor. I had not had the opportunity to inform you of what I had learned. The time never seemed right.”

And now did?! McCoy wanted to thunder, but wisely held his tongue for once. Then a fact that was more important than who was right or wrong, or who was better in anything, became glaringly clear to McCoy. Spock was trying. He was trying to be charming and communicative, and he was trying to include McCoy and to relate to him. McCoy was important to him, and Spock wanted McCoy to feel special. Maybe Spock couldn’t verbalize all those things. Maybe he didn’t even realize them himself. But he was certainly feeling them and wanting McCoy to understand the depth of his feelings.

Then McCoy figured out what females have always instinctively known. If you want your man to act more like a man around you, try acting more like a woman around him.

McCoy tucked his hand demurely into Spock’s and smiled up at him. “Now was the perfect time. Anytime that we’re together is perfect.”

Spock looked relieved and smiled all over himself.

That wasn’t the pleasantest picture to observe: Spock trying to smile. Some things just shouldn’t be tried, and that was one of them. But he was smiling sincerely from his heart, so that made up for the grotesque contortions taking place on his face.

Then McCoy decided to broach another topic. He didn't want to ruin the evening, but they had to get this subject discussed before they could go any further.

“This bond that we share,” he started and felt Spock’s body stiffen.

“What about it?”

“Do you feel compelled to obey it?”

“No.”

“So it’s not an obligation that you feel honor bound to observe?”

“Not really.”

“That’s a relief. I wouldn’t want you to be subjected to something like that.”

“It is more of a special connection between us. It is friendship, and more. It is a bond that I wish to honor.”

“But when I crawled up on that bed with you and helped you fight your illness, I did it out of compassion for you.”

“That is what made it more special. You did it unselfishly, with no thought of what you would get out of it.”

“Of course, that's why I did it! You needed help! I helped! I’d do it again!”

“Of course, you would,” Spock said with a smile of pride that seemed easier to observe that his previous smile. Maybe his smile just had to grow on a person, McCoy decided.

“That is why what you did was so special,” Spock continued. "You did it for me. Now I wish to do special acts to help you."

“Look, let’s just put all of that aside for awhile, shall we? It's Christmas. A time for sentimentality and tender feelings. A time for being together in fellowship. But tonight seems like more. I don’t care if we share a bond, or are bonded, or whatever. I just kinda like the idea of being with someone. Of belonging to someone.” McCoy’s eyes flicked up so that he was staring into Spock’s dark eyes. His heart was beating with the gamble he was taking, but Jim had told him that he was in control. And sometimes, a guy just has to go for it, you know?

“I kinda like the idea of belonging to someone special. I kinda like the idea of belonging to you." He saw Spock's eyes flash with impossible hope, but McCoy plowed ahead. "Because if I belong to you, that would mean that you belong to me, too. And I can’t think of anything I’d rather have for a Christmas gift than the most obstinate guy I know. Because he is also so incredibly sweet," McCoy said breathlessly.

Spock positively glowed.

McCoy hurried on. "Because the guy in my arms is sporting the cutest damn ears in the universe! And I like being around him very much, even if he drives me to distraction! I can't think of anyone whom I'd rather argue with, and I don't want to ever stop it!” he finished in a rush before he lost his nerve. 

“You are risking so much. A Vulcan can be very difficult to deal with. I am human enough to know that.”

“I know what I am risking! But sometimes, you just gotta take the chance! Know what I’m saying? And I know all about you stubborn, self-righteous Vulcans. But I want you to know that I think of you as my Vulcan--”

Spock frowned. “Your Vulcan?”

McCoy didn’t dare stop now. Besides, Spock hadn’t pushed him out of his arms and stalked away in his best martyr fashion. He was still here, in McCoy’s arms, swaying to music that was as much a part of their bodies as the music that was coming into their ears.

“Yes! Mine! My Vulcan, if that's alright with you!”

Spock’s frown eased. “I believe that I like the idea of belonging to someone, too. Especially you.”

“You do? I mean, great! I can be any kind of girl that you want. I'll try to act better--”

“Why would I ever want you to change? I like you just the way you are.” Spock’s dark eyes burned at him. “Aggravating. Opinionated. Unpredictable. Sassy.”

“Hey!”

“But, oh, so, so very, very desirable,” Spock finished in a rush as if he was afraid that he would lose his nerve before he could get it all said, too.

“Wanna take me into a dark corner and tell me more?” McCoy asked in a husky voice and with soft, shining eyes. “I wanna find out just how desirable that you think I am.”

Spock’s dark eyes twinkled as the ghost of a smile crossed those kissable-looking lips so close to McCoy’s. “In time, Leonard. First I wish to show off the prettiest girl at this party. The other ladies are so jealous of what that blue color does to your skin, and the other men in the room are jealous of me because I am the man lucky enough to be your escort.”

McCoy closed his eyes, smiled, and breathed deeply in contentment. This was what he had wanted for so long and had not realized it until now. It was not a surrender, but a victory. He felt so free.

“There is only one picture that I wish to see more than your skin against that blue dress," Spock murmured close to McCoy's ear. "And that is your naked skin against my bed linens as you moan my name in ecstasy.”

McCoy’s eyes flew open. There were still those dark eyes looking at him as if he was the most precious object in the universe.

“Mr. Spock!” McCoy chided softly.

“Well?” Spock’s eyes were actually flirty.

McCoy snuggled closer against Spock and placed his lips near Spock’s ear. “I'll moan so damn much that you'll think I'm possessed. Which I will be. And I can’t wait to get these damn clothes off so I can feel all of your naked skin against mine,” he murmured.

“That is just the start of what you will be feeling,” Spock promised.

McCoy pulled back so he could see Spock’s face.

“About that much, I can guarantee, Doctor.”

McCoy’s grin lit up that end of the room. “Santa’s coming tonight, after all!” he announced.

“Santa is not the only one,” Spock whispered in McCoy’s ear.

McCoy tried to look shocked, like a proper Southern belle should who was all dressed up in her best blue dress and was getting propositioned on the dancefloor by the greatest catch at the Christmas party.

“Mr. Spock!”

“About that much, I can guarantee, also, Doctor,” Spock said with one eyebrow raised wickedly.

On second thought, Spock was damn good looking when he smiled. It certainly made him look suggestive. And that poke from his nether regions into McCoy’s abdomen was more than suggestive. It was a coy promise. No, McCoy decided. That poke was a blatant guarantee.

And then they got lost in the music as they swayed to the rhythm of old Christmas songs. The night was filled with sparkly blue dresses and admiring glances for each other and a feeling that they were the only ones on the dance floor. Because as far as Spock and McCoy were concerned, they were.

Have yourself a Merry little Christmas, everyone, McCoy thought. 

Because he sure as hell was!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to NoOrdinarySouthernGirl, McCoy's midnight blue dress became sparkly and swishy through the eyes of love. Sigh. Perhaps the title of the chapter should have been 'Falling In Love On The Dancefloor' but Spock and McCoy were well on the way to romance before they were dancing together at the Christmas party. The dancing simply sealed the transaction.
> 
> I did not set out to make this a holiday fic. It just happily turned out that way. So Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, and/or Happy Kwanzaa to one and all. If you do not celebrate any of these holidays in your culture, I hope that you can feel the spirit of the season that is radiating from those of us who do. Maybe we should have some universal and global observance at this time of the year. We could let the joy of giving and sharing and brotherhood extend to all peoples wherever they might be and whatever their beliefs. Our planet is shrinking as never before. Let us celebrate Mankind, as we truly are one.

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing of Star Trek, its characters, and/or its story lines.


End file.
